


Little Worlds

by Abbie



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, F/M, Fake Character Death, Gen, Hostage Situations, Kid Fic, Multi, Pre-OT3, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, Team Arrow, Tumblr Prompt, Women Being Awesome, abuse of Smallville's Plot Device Red Kryptonite, video games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 17:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 65
Words: 25,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abbie/pseuds/Abbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of fics prompted on my Tumblr. Runs the gamut from funny to sexy to really quite dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There's Someone in the House

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by Ferggirl (notababoonbrandishingastick)

She stepped back from the mirror, suddenly afraid.

That wasn’t a coat on the wall hanger down the hall.

Heartbeat hammering madly in her throat, Felicity forced her body to take a casual step towards the kitchen. If she could just reach the room before the intruder realized she’d spotted them, she could get to the Tazer in the drawer by the fridge, or any of the steak knives in the wooden block, or the pistol strapped under the kitchen table; she might stand a chance.

Swallowing thickly, she took three more steps, wishing against wish that it might turn out to be Oliver, with his absurd definition of personal boundaries, except she’d left both him and Diggle still sweaty and sparring in the foundry only thirty minutes ago.

The kitchen entry was four steps away, and Felicity abandoned pretense, breaking into a panicked run, shaking hands outstretched, reaching for a weapon, any weapon; she wasn’t going down without a fight.


	2. All In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver is dubious, Tommy is confident, and Felicity is all in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by ohemgeeitscoley

Felicity looked at Tommy, and then back at Oliver, before nodding, "I am in. I am so in." 

Oliver exhaled sharply from his nose, brows furrowed in pleading disapproval as he said, once again, “Are you sure, Felicity? You don’t have to do this, we can find another way—”

"She said she’s sure, Oliver," Tommy snapped, rolling his eyes irritably at his best friend. "Five times. Stop trying to change her answer and have some damn confidence in her, she can do this.”

Oliver squared his jaw mulishly and unfolded his arms, turning to glare at Tommy hostilely. Felicity was having none of it, and charged between them and into Oliver’s personal space, pressing him back with two fingers in the center of his chest. “I can do this, like I keep telling you. Maybe it’s not ideal, but it’s the best option we’ve got if we want to find out where they’re holding John, much less get him out alive.” Oliver stepped back from her, jaw still set stubbornly but shoulders sloping in a posture Felicity knew meant she’d won. Smiling, she turned to include Tommy in the conversation again. “Besides, I’ve already got the stripper shoes and I’ve been meaning to put the last four years of pole dancing lessons to good use.” Tommy’s eyebrow raised at that, but she merely raised one right back. “The question is, Merlyn, how do you feel about eyeliner and leather?”


	3. No Rest for the Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver just wants to get some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by thecoolcheryl

Oliver was tired, had been tired for quite some time, and was going to continue to be tired until he killed that son of a bitch. 

Between PTSD nightmares of his five years away and sleepless nights of terror and guilt, he was lucky when he averaged four hours of sleep in a night.

It had been an exhausting week—a wearying-to-the-bone month fraught with dangers and scares and swooping highs and crashing lows—and all he wanted was a snatch of unconsciousness before setting out to do it all again.

Just a little darkness behind the eyelids without monsters wearing dead faces lurching out of the shadows.

Just a little quiet before the cacophony of his life’s daily demands began shrieking again.

Apparently he wasn’t getting any of that unless or until he put an arrow through that goddamn mourning dove nesting outside his bedroom window.


	4. Boy, This Over is Overdue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity is 1000% done with this shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by erin-louise

"The man you've waited so long for doesn't want you," she sneered, not breaking pace as she strode past.

The girl in the hall mirror, of course, didn’t answer except with her own tear-stained scowl, and Felicity strode back towards her bedroom without pause, having no desire to see—honest to the God she’d never managed to really believe in—the last tears she would _ever_ cry over Oliver Queen.

Felicity was _done_ ; done waiting, done hoping, done making a fool out of herself, done making herself constantly available to an _idiot_ who would never see her the way she wanted, much less the way she _needed_.

She had put her life on hold for too long—and for what, for a man, for _Oliver?_ She’d told herself over and over it was for the _cause_ but she’d always known even then she was full of shit, and she’d had _enough_.

Kicking off her flats at the foot her bed, she strode to her closet, cell phone in hand and hitting speed dial three even as she searched for the perfect “fuck you” dress, and answered the wary hello with, “Sara, it’s Felicity. You’re coming over and we’re going out and getting tipsy and dancing inappropriately with men who _don’t_ have more baggage than LaGuardia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the song "Overdue" by ZZ Ward


	5. She Has His Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity stands in an elevator with Oliver Queen, holding her newborn child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by carolinas-dreams. To whom I still profusely apologize. this was not what you wanted and I am sorry.

Once inside the elevator, Felicity leaned against his shoulder and sighed, still feeling the post-labor exhaustion. “Don’t worry, we’ll be at the mansion in half an hour.”

Felicity smiled up at him, tired and vulnerable, the bundle in her arms clutched tight to her chest, as if afraid someone would take the tiny girl away from her. “Thanks, Oliver. I can’t tell you enough how grateful I am for—for everything. I don’t think I could have done this alone.” He smiled down at her, but she blinked and he braced himself, the corner of his mouth tucking against anticipatory amusement as she backtracked, “I mean, I _could_ have done this without you, I would have found a way, obviously, it’s not like I’m incapable of doing this—or anything!—on my own, which is good, considering the whole… single-mom-thing I can look forward to for the foreseeable future, but uh…. what I’m saying is, thank you. I _could_ have done this without you, but I’m really, really grateful I didn’t have to.”

He couldn’t help it; he laughed, and softened it with the squeeze of an arm around her shoulder and a soft kiss pressed to the top of her head. “You’re welcome, Felicity, always. Besides, you really think I’d ignore you— _or_ my goddaughter—when you needed me most?” His smile turned sad, and lonely. “Tommy’d find a way to return from beyond the grave and kick my ass.”

Felicity smiled faintly up at him, blinking back a shine of tears. “I know.” She sucked in a harsh breath, looking down at the top of her tiny daughter’s head, and whispered, “I wish he could’ve met her.”

Oliver swallowed thickly, vowing to himself once again that he would do his very best to stand in for the man he’d failed to save, for Tommy’s daughter, for all of the years Tommy’d never see her grow, and for Felicity, the most remarkable woman Oliver had ever met, and in whom Tommy had seen wonder and love and beauty before Oliver had ever been willing to allow it for himself. “Me, too.”


	6. Three's Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity was unprepared to have two men in her bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by ohemgeeitscoley, who was making REALLY SURE I was gonna give her EXACTLY what she wanted.

Oliver's lips moved slowly up toward Felicity's ear, she turned her head slightly to give him better access when she felt Tommy's hand run down her hip bone before settling on her 'I didn't think I'd have two guys in my bed tonight' underwear.

It was almost too much sensation—Oliver’s tongue licking a hot, wet stripe along her collarbone, Tommy’s fingers tracing teasingly back and forth along the top of the elastic, the heat of both their bodies pressing close against her very bare skin. Her focus was fraying, and neither man had even taken their pants off yet.

Which was a crime, really.

Pulling away from them both in a moment of clarity and revolution, Felicity swallowed thickly and said in a voice gone ironically _smoky_ with lust, “You are both wearing way too much clothing right now. _Strip._ ”

Oliver laughed falling onto his back on the mattress behind her, while in front of her, on his knees, Tommy grinned and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

—And then the alarm shrieked its hateful 7am alert, and Felicity jerked to awareness with her shirt rucked up to her armpits and her thighs squeezed together and a frustrated groan. “God, I need to get laid.”


	7. It Only Hurts When I Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slade has a few questions for Felicity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Ferggirl (notababoonbrandishingastick)

For just a moment, she forgot to breathe.

But as soon as the pain hit, a firework explosion burning through her ribs, her breath came rushing back in an agonizing gasp that blurred her vision in swimming black spots.

Felicity’s knees gave out, but she scrambled to get her feet back under her as the chains wrapped around her wrists dropped all her weight on her shoulder sockets in screaming protest.

In the dim light directly overhead, Slade chuckled darkly at the fierce, livid glare she raised to him. “We’re just getting started, sweetheart. You _will_ tell me where he’s gone. The broken ribs are what I’d call a soft open in this little game.”

Felicity ran her tongue over her teeth and spat a mouthful of bloody saliva at his feet. Voice raspy, breath wheezing, she gritted her teeth and snarled, “The only thing I’m going to give you is another reason to buy eyepatches in bulk—”

Her threats drowned under her screams.


	8. Not Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The duck, apparently, had it coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by burningletter-

"Why is your sister lighting a plastic duck on fire in the middle of Verdant?"

“ _What?_ " Oliver’s head swung around in confusion towards Felicity, standing at the bottom of the steps into the foundry, and the jerking motion pulled the arrow he was sharpening off the wheel with a grinding screech.

Felicity cringed, and Oliver, swearing, hurriedly shut off the machine. Turning back to Felicity, brows furrowed and jaw set in not a little irritation, he demanded, “What did you say?”

Felicity raised her brows archly at his tone, canting her head back towards the upper landing, and repeated, “Thea. Plastic mallard. On fire. Middle of the dancefloor.”

Muttering a string of curses in an elegant blend of Russian and Chinese, Oliver snatched his shirt and pulled it over his head as he strode purposefully across the room towards her, eyes intent on the door to the club as he growled, “Not _again_.”


	9. Sneaking Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diggle has had just about enough of this nonsense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by burningletter-

"Not again."

Felicity and Tommy jumped back from each other with an audible parting of lips and stood standing in opposite corners of the little supply closet off the utility hallway of Verdant, hands shifting mussed hair and clothing and eyes darting to and fro like guilty teenagers.

Diggle stood silhouetted in the doorway, an irritable, disbelieving frown on his face and his arms crossed over his broad chest. “This is the fifth time I have walked in on you two all over each other in random places. The _fifth time_. This _week._ " Shaking his head and clucking his tongue, he threw his hands into the air and stepped away from the doorway. "Y’know what. You two kids carry on. I need extra towels less than you two need to figure out what the hell you’re doing, sneaking around like Oliver’s gonna catch you and explode." The frown turned to a scowl, tossed between the two of them like a tennis ball. "Which he will! So do us all and yourselves a favor, and maybe think about taking this _whatever the hell you’re doing_ to one of your _homes_.”

Felicity winced as John stalked away, fingers fumbling over the top three buttons of her shirt. “He’s right, you know.”

Tommy caught her eye, hands in his pockets and shirt still untucked and open, eyebrows raising at her. “That we should talk, define what it is we are doing, you and I?”

Felicity contemplated him for a second, hands stilling on her last button as she eyed his messy hair and the shadows where his shirt opened, the guilt on her face slowly trickling away to leave behind only mischief and desire. “Maybe. But right now, I was more thinking of the ‘carry on’ instruction.”

Her fingers dropped to a lower button, slipping it open, and Tommy’s eyes followed, his tongue darting out to wet his lips and chin dipping in a slow nod. “You’re right; we can talk later.”


	10. Curiosity Killed the

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thea's not gonna cry at Roy's funeral, that's for damn sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by burningletter-

"Roy, I swear that if you continue to stick your nose where it doesn't belong, I will not be upset if it gets you killed."

Roy raised a skeptical brow at Thea, flopping backwards on her bed and scooting back to drape himself invitingly against the headboard; she stood by, arms folded, unimpressed. “What, like you weren’t thinking it too?”

Thea reached out and smacked him lightly on the knee; his filthy shoes were on her bedspread and she was _not_ having that _._ "I swear to god, if you make one more ‘coy’ remark about my brother’s assistant in Ollie’s hearing, he’s going to fold you in half where you don’t bend naturally."

Roy snorted, “He can try. I’m really not scared of the great Oliver Queen. And seriously, there is no way he isn’t mixing a little _pleasure_ in with the _business_ he and Blondie get up too. You have seen her skirts and we have both seen him seeing them.”

Thea smacked his leg again, harder this time. “Her _name_ is Felicity, and Ollie says they’re just friends. _Which I believe_ , because for one thing, I don’t think Ollie’s actually over Laurel yet, and for another, Felicity is way too good for him. She is smarter than that.”

Roy leered at her. “You weren’t too smart to avoid the guy who wasn’t good enough for you.”

Thea rolled her eyes, tucking her lips against the threatening smile. “A decision I question daily.” She whacked his knee three more times. “ _Especially_ when you put your damn shoes on my bed!”


	11. We Really Did Try to Make It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He just needed her to hold on a little bit longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Ferggirl (notababoonbrandishingastick), who also didn't get what she wanted, and I'M NOT SORRYYYYY.

His smiling face was the last thing she saw when she closed her eyes.

Tommy maintained the smile until her chest was still under his hand, hollow and silent, and then it shattered with the force of a sob. “Felicity?” he rasped, palm cradling her pale cheek. “Felicity, _wake up_. I said you’re gonna be fine, they’re almost here. You’re gonna be _fine_!”

His voice broke on the last word, and so did his control as he cradled the back of her head in one hand and gripped her shoulder in the other, shaking her. “ _Felicity! Felicity, open your eyes!”_

He scrambled for what little emergency care he knew, tilting her head back, opening her mouth, placing his palms stacked over her sternum and timing chest compressions between hard breaths into her mouth. He wasn’t sure how long he kept at it, desperate to feel her heart beat, hear her gasp, see her lashes flutter open, but he was so intent on his task he didn’t even notice as the defunct freezer’s door finally tore open, only stopped when Oliver’s green leather-clad arms slid around his chest, hauling him bodily back from Felicity.

"No!" Tommy screamed, fighting Oliver’s iron-clad hold. "No, we have to save her! She has to be okay, _she has to be okay!!_ ”

Diggle knelt beside Felicity, two fingers on her throat, his expression blasted by shock, by loss, by suddenness and defeat. “Tommy. She’s gone, man. She’s gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song "It's Too Late" by Carole King


	12. Feverish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Arrow takes care of its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Ferggirl (notababoonbrandishingastick)

It sounded more like an old man's wheeze than a breath.

"Felicity," Oliver snapped, turning from his opponent with a stalling hand raised to glare over at the computer station. She peeked at him over the monitors, eyes bleary and nose red, cheeks flushed, and he instantly gentled his tone. "You are sick. _Go home_.”

She ducked her head back behind the monitors, muffling a sniffle in another of her now-ubiquitous tissues. “‘M’not sick. S’just a cold. I’ll be fine, I’m never sick.”

Oliver turned and exchanged a look with John, who, arms folded over his chest and expression amused but fed up, nodded at him. Together, they turned back towards Felicity and moved in her direction, circling to either side of her desk to meet at opposite arms of her chair. “We didn’t want to have to do this, Felicity,” Oliver chided, leaning across her space—ignoring her congested protest—and turning off her monitors, “but you’ve left us no choice.”

John clapped a hand to her forehead, drawing her attention to his disapproving frown. “You’ve got a pretty high temperature. And if you won’t go home when you’re told, we will _take_ you home.”

Blanching beneath her fever flush, Felicity pushed back in her wheeled chair, a weak attempt at escape. “Oh, no, _no_ , I am _fine_ , just let me _do my job_ _—_!”

She was cut off with a squeak as Diggle scooped her out of her chair with one arm under her knees and the other behind her back. Reflexively, her arms went around his neck, and she glared up at him, while behind her, Oliver zipped himself into his gray hoodie and collected Felicity’s things, and the keys to the Rolls. “You are _not_ fine, and Digg and I are taking you home, pouring medicine down your throat, and if I have to sit on you until you go to sleep, Felicity, I swear I will do it. And then you’re not _leaving_ your bed until you’re better.”

Grumpily, Felicity sniffled and muttered, “This was not how I pictured you’d make me stay in bed all day,” and then instantly brought back her bright feverish color, thumping her head down against John’s shoulder with a groan. “ _I hate you both_.”

Moving together towards the stairs, Oliver tucked away his grin as John chuckled and fondly told the top of Felicity’s tousled curls, “We love you, too.”


	13. And Now You're In My Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver is standing in her way. But not for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Ferggirl (notababoonbrandishingastick)

His shot was high, thudding into the wall just above her head.

"Felicity," Oliver growled warningly, "I don’t want to hurt you! But I _will_ , if you make me.”

Felicity glared at him, her grip on the device tightening angrily. “It’s a little _late_ for not wanting to hurt me, Oliver. And you’re even more an idiot than I remember if you think I’m _ever_ going to let you do it again. Now _get_. _Out_. _Of my way_.”

She took a step closer with every hard-bitten punctuation, the gun in her other hand never wavering, aimed perfectly center mass, just like Diggle’d taught her—before Oliver got him killed. John, and Sara, and Barry, and Quentin, and Roy.

She was only a few feet from him now, her gun arm raised, his bow notched, drawn, pointed at her heart, and his expression was all hard lines of containment and overspilling desperation as he said, “You know I can’t do that, Felicity.”

"Yes," she deadpanned, pulling the trigger and pressing back the pang at the shock that overwrote his face as his knees buckled. "You really can."


	14. A Bit Drafty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hadn't seen her in so long; he hadn't expect to see her like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by thecoolcheryl

He hadn’t seen her in going on twenty years, but of all the things he expected, her showing up looking like that was the last.

"Grandma!" Oliver yelped, rushing forward and whipping off his jacket. "Did you, uh, forget your dress before coming downstairs?"

"Oh, Ollie!" Alberta Queen reached up and patted his cheek. "Such a good boy, I _did_ notice it was a bit drafty.”

Raisa hurried down the stairs to them, looking mortified on the elderly Queen’s behalf. “Mrs. Queen! I have your lovely blue Dior dress laid out for you in your room. Come, tell me, I chose well?”

Oliver passed custody of his father’s mother to the housekeeper, then turned a dumbstruck expression on Thea, who was smothering a helpless smile behind her hand. “How long has she been doing this?”

Moira pressed a hand to her pearls, staring after her mother-in-law, and responded wearily, “The better question is, how does she keep slipping away from her attendants at the care resort? We pay them an obscene yearly sum to ensure she’s well looked after.”


	15. Feel the Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She just needed him out of her system.

 

_It wants to kill you, it wants to tear you apart_   
_It wants to thrill you, this vengeful love that I’ve got_   
_Wants to consume you then spit you out_   
_I fear the fever fear the fever, can you feel it now_

—

She should’ve known there was something up with the strange red crystal they’d recovered from their latest foe, but Oliver had handled it and been absolutely fine. It wouldn’t occur to her until much later that he’d still been wearing his gloves and, when he’d passed it to her with a request to have it analyzed and researched, her hands had been entirely bare.

So she should’ve realized something was wrong. It was one thing to _think_ of handing in your resignation every time she heard other employees whispering about how she must’ve gotten this position she never wanted on her knees, under a desk; to think about storming out and never setting foot inside Queen Consolidated again every time her cheeks burned with the humiliation of failing at a task that was nowhere within her skillset or she made an investor or Isabel or _Oliver_ give her that look of pitying disbelief when she managed to stick her foot in her mouth in front of important people _again_. It was one thing to glare lingeringly at Oliver’s naked back in the foundry and think that maybe she could get rid of this pesky attraction if she could just get him out of her system, just once.

But to actually decide those things were good ideas?

Well. That was another thing entirely.

—

Oliver hung up the phone with yet another board member, rubbing the bridge of his nose to soothe the mild headache smoothing things with stuffed suits always gave him. He glanced up through the glass walls of his office to see Felicity rise from her desk and move towards the door separating them. He sat up, her long, purposeful stride instantly bringing him to attention. Something Arrow-related, perhaps?

She swung open the door and stalked—actually stalked—on three inch red heels across the large space towards him, a slim folder in one hand and a determined cast to her features. Oliver’s head canted slightly to one side, eyebrows lowering. “Hey. That the budget report for Applied Sciences?”

She reached his desk and dropped the folder onto the surface with a startling, if soft, thud. “Yes, it is. Coincidentally, it's also the last report I will be bringing you. Ever.” She smiled at him with closed cherry red lips, and a tiny kernel of worry buried itself under his sternum.

"Uh—what? Felicity, are you okay?" He leaned towards her a little, wondering if the very slight flush to her skin was makeup or perhaps a fever.

"I’m great. Better than great, actually." She rounded the desk to stand beside him, the really-not-that-short skirt of her deep blue dress swirling over her thighs with the sharp motion of her gait. He turned his chair, angling towards her as she grinned fiercely, a hard glint in her bright eyes. "Because I quit, Oliver."

He blinked rapidly, his hands finding the chair’s arms and gripping tight. Did he hear her right? “Wait, what? Felicity, what’s going on? What are you talking about?”

She laughed, and the sound had a sharpness like broken glass. “It’s really not that hard to understand, Oliver. I’m done here. Through with… _this_. Find another Girl Friday to bring you coffee and collate your files and greet your appointments, because Wednesday is leaving the building.” He stared up at her, confused and alarmed, lips parted in shock as she grinned like she’d won the lottery. Her eyes flicked to his open mouth and the smile became something smug and coy. “And one more thing.”

He wouldn’t later be able to explain or justify, even to himself, his inaction when she leaned over, one hand planting on the desk beside him for balance, the other taking a firm grip of his lapel and jerking him forward. Her lips crashed into his and it was like the world went to white noise, narrowing with a laser focus to her tongue curling around his, her hair falling over her shoulder and brushing his jaw, her thumbnail scraping dully on his chest through the layers of suit jacket and dress shirt, her teeth pulling at his lower lip before she abruptly released him and stood.

"…What the hell, Felicity?" he breathed, voice rough and dragging from his throat. He swallowed thickly as she stepped back, calmly regarding him as she swiped a thumb under her lips for smeared lipstick.

She made a little face that suggested a shrug. “Let’s just say I was satisfying the curiosity once and for all. Now, feel free to call me tomorrow if we’ve got criminals to bust, but otherwise, I’ll see you later, Oliver.” She started to back away from the desk, her expression and posture full of energy, like she’d been given a new lease on life. “Since I’ve got the rest of the night free, I think I’ll go dancing.” She was walking to the door, and he still hadn’t shaken from his shock enough to stop her. She tossed a little wave over her shoulder. “Maybe I’ll find someone to take home! Don’t call early if you can help it.”

He watched her leave, a happy sway in her hips, and by the time she’d disappeared from sight, some measure of sense had returned to him. He pried his fingers from the arm of the chair and pulled his cell phone from his breast pocket, hitting the speed dial for Diggle even as he rose and began grabbing what few essentials he would need from the office. When the other man answered, Oliver ran over Diggle’s hello with an urgent, “Bring the car. I think something’s wrong with Felicity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ferggirl is to blame for all things. Like prodding me to attempt sexier writing. This happened. So did what comes next.
> 
> This chapter title and the lyrics selection are from the song "Feel the Fever" by Digital Daggers.


	16. Sudden Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slip of the tongue.

Felicity was too tired and irritable from the persistent, nagging minor headache that had been dogging her for four hours to have this conversation with Oliver. Not even the delicious Big Belly Burger burgers and fries they were feasting on, the rich smell filling the foundry, could lessen the annoyance of Oliver Queen determined to be an ass.

He swallowed a large bite of his bacon cheeseburger, supercilious brow quirked in mocking condescension. “I’m just saying, Felicity. It _looks_ like you’re dating a guy younger than my sister’s boyfriend, whatever his driver’s license says.”

"Oh, eat me," she snapped, too fed up and disgruntled to actually argue with him.

Her word choice hit her about five seconds later, when she realized Oliver was holding her gaze for a too-long, too-quiet moment, eyebrow steadily on the rise. But it wasn’t until he ran his tongue over his teeth under his upper lip, eyes still locked on hers, that the heat slammed her like a July noon.

She looked hurriedly away, and he resumed ribbing her good-humoredly about Barry as if nothing at all had happened.

Later, she would repeat to herself that it was only a flush of embarrassment over and over until she could pretend to believe it.


	17. Caught Looking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long night, and Tommy just can't help noticing.

"Thank god _that’s_ over,” Felicity grumbled, shifting on the couch beside Tommy as she bent to carefully tease off the constricting straps of her very elegant and very _tall_ heels.

Tommy found his eyes tracing the curved line of her spine, bared by the exceptionally low cut of the back of her black silk cocktail dress along with a great deal of the soft, smooth expanse from the nape of her neck to her hips; he licked his lips and swallowed thickly, caught off guard by how… imminently _touchable_ her skin looked in the sparse lighting and abundant shadows of the foundry.

She sat up again and he cleared his throat, dragging his eyes up—over her shoulders, along her collarbones, up her neck, over her mouth—to her eyes, which peered at him with a vague curiosity until he said, “You said it; I think if that creep put his hands on you one more time, it would’ve been a race between me, Digg, and Ollie to see who could cross the room to break his fingers first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a challenge from Ferggirl to write something sexy in only three sentences. I kind of cheated a little. But there are only three ending punctuation marks! I think that counts, right? Right.


	18. Try Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity asked for this, and Digg's gonna hold her to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Ferggirl (notababoonbrandishingastick)

"I just don't understand."

Felicity, on her back, sweating and breathing profusely, groaned, “What’s to understand, John? It’s pretty obvious I am never going figure this move out.”

Diggle glared down at her, lying like a limp noodle on the practice mats with her hair beginning to escape her ponytail and sports-bra clad chest heaving—melodramatically, if you asked him. “That’s a bullshit excuse, Felicity, and I never took you for a whiner. _You_ wanted to be a more formidable opponent, right? _Y_ _ou_ asked _me_ to help you make sure nobody’d ever get the drop on you like that again, right?” He watched her push up on to her elbows, biting her lips and eyes avoiding his, and he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Look, if you think I’m being too hard on you or demanding too much, I can always ask Oliver to take a turn training you.”

She grimaced, nose wrinkling and mouth curving down in an almost comical scowl. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now, are we doing this until you can drop me on my ass or am I making a phone call?” He stuck a hand out to her and she looked up at him from under her eyebrows—and really, the smirk should have been warning enough, but he’d have to admit later he wouldn’t have expected this from _her_ —right before she pivoted her hips and swung both legs to catch his left ankle, taking his leg clean from under him.

John hit the mats with a _whoosh_ of expelled breath, blinking in surprise as Felicity’s grinning face appeared over his, her hand patting him on the chest. “Good as it feels to finally drop you on your ass, Digg, I know that’s not what you meant; so, petty grudges satisfied… let’s try again.”


	19. Locked in a Room with an Alligator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity would really like someone to hurry up and let her out of here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Ferggirl (notababoonbrandishingastick)

 

The alligator was really too close for comfort now.

"Um, _guys_?” Felicity called, listening to the heavy breathing and sounds of pummeling fists echoing through her earpiece. “Not to rush you or anything, but could you kinda _hurry the fuck up_?”

John was the one who answered, his voice grim and determined. “We’re almost there, Felicity; just hold on.”

"Great,” Felicity muttered, backpedaling slowly towards the wall—and the locked door—and praying that alligators had really shitty eyesight, like T-Rexes or something _,_ "because this was _weird_ when Big Bert over here was sleeping, but it’s starting to get _really scary_ instead.”

"Felicity, how close is it to you? Is there _anything_ you can use as a weapon?” Oliver sounded focused, but also concerned—that was alarming.

"No, there is not a _weapon_ in here, Oliver, unless you want me to stomp on its foot with three inch stiletto heels! Who the hell _feeds people to alligators_ , is this guy a _cartoon?_ ”

"I’m outside the door!" John barked. "Give me a second on this lock."


	20. Not Ready to Say Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy isn't prepared to do this, not again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Ferggirl (notababoonbrandishingastick) WHO WAS REALLY MAD AT ME ABOUT IT

He couldn't bring himself to open the door.

If he just stayed in here, it wasn’t real; this wasn’t happening, it wasn’t _today_ , and he could make believe for a while longer that everything was fine, that _everyone_ was fine. 

So he stood in front of the door, hand loose on the doorknob, and stared at his perfectly shined black shoes, and tried to pretend he could _breathe_ around the stiff white collar of the shirt, that the black tie—perfectly matching the black suit—wasn’t a noose, strangling him.

But maybe that was the grief—maybe it was reality, choking the _okay_ out of the world, out of him.

He jolted like the doorknob was electrified when a sharp rap sounded at about his chest level and, sucking in a deep breath like a drowning man, he bit the bullet and opened the door. “Felicity.”

She stood in front of the door in her tasteful black dress, curls sleekly falling atop her shoulders, fingernails painted black, lips bare, and eyes red-rimmed. “Tommy. Do… do you mind if I head in with you? Diggle won’t come out of his apartment, and I’m worried if I show up alone they—they won’t let me in the gates, because nobody really knows that I _knew_ him, you know, and I—I need to be there, Tommy… please?”

Tommy swallowed thickly. “Of course. You deserve to be there. I’d be grateful for the company, honestly.” He sighed, ran a shaking hand over his hair. “Laurel’s still not speaking to me. And Oliver was important to you, too. I know he’d… he’d want you there.”


	21. Is It Hot in Here Or Is That Just Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Record high temperatures in Starling leave Felicity's tongue even looser than usual--or than she'd like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Ferggirl (notababoonbrandishingastick)

Her hands froze in midair as she realized what she'd just said.

"Oh my god," she half whispered, horrified, eyes dragging slowly up to Oliver’s wide-eyed, slack jawed expression. "Tell me I did not just actually admit that out loud."

Oliver coughed harshly and then, very carefully, like it was a bomb instead of plastic and water, set Felicity’s requested drink on her desk. “Um. That depends. Did you _not_ mean to tell me that it’s been over a year since you last had sex?” He coughed again, and she could _feel_ the blush creeping bright red up to her hairline as she watched his mouth work in indecision between studied nonchalance and an amused grin, “Or that if you don’t find someone, ahem, _your words_ , to ‘ride off into the sunset’ by this weekend you’re gonna kill someone?”

"Oh. My. _God_.” Felicity slapped both hands over her burning face, spun her chair to face away from Oliver’s losing battle with the grin, and muffled a small shriek in her palms. “We are blaming _all of this_ on the heat wave and your basement’s _shitty air conditioning_ and we are _never_ speaking of this again, Oliver! O _h my god._ ”

Behind her, he chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know. That sounded like a threat of violent homicide to me. As the local vigilante, I should probably take that pretty seriously.”

Spinning her chair back around, Felicity glared at Oliver viciously—somewhat less effective considering she was still tomato red—and stood up, snatching her bottle of water and turning towards the door. “For the record, I hate you. And I am _leaving_ , and _do not call me until tomorrow afternoon_.”


	22. Unpleasant Reminders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity runs into an old boyfriend. Diggle offers to kneecap him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by thecoolcheryl

"If I had a nickel for every time I got turned into the feds by a bitter ex-boyfriend, I’d have...15 cents."

Diggle shifted on the edge of Felicity’s desk, arms folding over his massive chest as he frowned at the top of her head. “You are not making me want to bust this guy’s kneecaps any less, Felicity.”

She rolled her eyes. “Look, Taylor’s a whiny dick who can’t handle that he can’t code his way out of a wet paper bag while I’m, you know, _me_. But he’s not an actual threat. I just can’t believe he actually got _hired_ here.” She shrugged, attention already drifting back to Oliver’s schedule on her screen. “The FBI couldn’t even actually make anything stick, obviously, and by the time I was through I had them pretty thoroughly convinced I was an innocent victim of a crazy ex-boyfriend’s incredibly juvenile prank.”

Diggle’s mouth twitched in amusement; it was always good to know Felicity still had her self-confidence. “So if he’s not an actual threat, what’d he say to you that pissed you off so bad?”

Felicity stilled, eyes on the game of schedule-tetris in front of her, though she was very clearly not actually seeing it. “He just… made some comments. About getting my old job, and that I obviously couldn’t _hack_ it—god he’s always been such a fan of shitty puns—since I got moved to the _secretarial pool_.” She turned a little to look at John, her expression carefully blank—but her eyes hinting at anger, shame, frustration and sadness for anyone who knew her. “Where my _real talents_ were apparently appreciated.”

John lost all vestiges of humor, nostrils flaring as his spine straightened, eyes holding Felicity’s. “Your ‘real talents.’”

She smiled at him, a tiny, broken curve that made John want to hit someone—though right now, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to break the skinny geek, or the asshole vigilante. “The ones that _everyone_ knows Oliver Queen hired me for.”


	23. Rumor and Reputation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver is concerned about Felicity's reputation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by girlwithsixsmiles

"Tommy, you should really start reading the newspaper."

"That sounds both productive and enlightening, and therefore like a waste of time," Tommy joked, grinning, but Oliver just stared at him, arms crossed, clearly unamused. Smile dropping, Tommy’s brows drew together in concern. "Okaaay, what’d I miss."

Felicity, seated at her computers behind Oliver, snorted. “It’s not even front page, don’t let him scare you. We’re in the society pages. Somebody got a picture of us walking down the sidewalk last week when you bought me lunch, and thanks to the way a peplum dress looks under a belted coat, I am now apparently carrying your secret bastard lovechild.”

"What?" Tommy laughed, eyes bouncing from Oliver’s grumpy scowl to Felicity, who turned in her chair to grace him with an amused smirk.

She rolled her eyes and hooked a thumb at Oliver, “He doesn’t think it’s as funny as I do.”

Oliver turned his glower now on Felicity. “It’s _not_ funny! Felicity, this is your reputation on the line, getting dragged through the mud.”

Felicity and Tommy barked a laugh at the same time, and she favored Oliver with an incredulous eyebrow raise. “It’s a _little_ late for that, Oliver. With Tommy, I’m practically trading up; at least _he_ isn’t my boss.”

Oliver winced, blanching, and Felicity spun her chair to get back to work.

Catching Oliver’s eye, Tommy smirked and mouthed, “ _Burn_.”


	24. A Dark and Stormy Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A violent storm knocks out the power, and Felicity and Oliver are trapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by macyaudenstar

"It was a dark and stormy night," she said sarcastically.

Oliver turned and glared at her. “Not helping, Felicity.”

She rolled her eyes, too grumpy about being trapped sixteen floors above the ground in a glass-walled elevator while an intense thunderstorm raged around them to be intimidated. “Yes, because your pacing the entire twelve feet of this glass box is _so_ productive.” He scowled at her, but did, finally, stand still, feet braced wide apart in front of the doors as he ran both hands over his hair. “We’re just kind of _screwed_ , Oliver. I can’t do a damn thing with the wiring with the power out, and it’s too risky to try to go out the emergency hatch in the ceiling to reach the next floor in case the power comes back _on_ while you pry the doors open, and then we plummet to our very gruesome deaths.”

His expression twisted into incredulous annoyance. “What is _with_ you right now, did I piss you off?”

Felicity shot him a nasty look, kicking out of her too-tall heels and settling on the floor for the unknown wait ahead of them, back strategically to the view of storm and city behind her. “Oh, right, because of course _everything_ is about you. Somebody’s pissed off? Must be because of you. Somebody died? Probably your fault. Your friend is scared out of her mind and being a total bitch to distract from it? Maybe you did something!” She threw her hands in the air, letting them fall to her knees so she could dig her fingernails into the skin through her nylons.

Oliver stared at her, brows drawing together, before a sudden look of revelation overtook his face. “The heights.”

"Yes, Oliver, the heights!" She snapped. "Not that the last time we stopped an elevator way above the ground wasn’t _super_ , but the being trapped and possibility of actual plummeting death is a lot less fun than swinging on a zipline wrapped around you.” Slowly, she closed her eyes, head tipping back and thunking against the cool glass. “That was not meant to sound like that.”


	25. Less Talk, More Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy wants to talk. Felicity doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by ohemgeeitscoley

"I won't let you use me like this anymore."

Felicity, perched on top of Tommy, her skirt riding all the way up her thighs and shirt open to frame her vibrant orange bra, stilled her fingers on the button of his jeans and looked down at him, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want me to stop? I mean, I don’t want you to do anything you don’t _want_ to do, I can get off—and get off somewhere else.”

Swearing, Tommy grabbed hold of her hips, pressing her down to keep her in place—then taking a moment to _breathe_ through the tortuously delicious _pressure_. “ _That_ is not what I meant. Jesus Christ, Felicity, are you trying to kill me?” As if in answer, she ground down against him, and his chin tipped back, a frustrated growl rumbling in his throat. “ _I am trying to have a serious conversation here_ , stop _distracting me_ for a second.”

She snorted, palm sliding slowly up his abdomen towards his chest as she muttered, “Distraction _was_ kind of the whole point of this little get together.”

He clapped his hand over hers, trapping it against his heartbeat as he propped himself up on an elbow, looking at her drolly. “And don’t think I’m not grateful, but the _no strings_ detail of this arrangement is starting to not work so well for me.”

She pursed her lips at him in a little moue of displeasure, then sighed, leaned down, and kissed him, soft and almost chaste, before she said against his lips, “Let’s save that conversation for _after_ , hmm?”


	26. If This Is My Last Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If they're going to die anyways, Felicity doesn't see why she shouldn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by ohemgeeitscoley

"Um, guys, the red timer started counting down, that's a bad thing right?"

“ _What?_ " Felicity swung towards Tommy, who was stood in front of the little clock in the wall of the tiny, cubelike room she, Tommy, and Oliver had all woken up in roughly an hour ago. Color draining from her face, she asked, "How much time on the clock, Tommy?"

He turned towards her, swallowing thickly, a grim expression on his face. “Five minutes.”

Oliver swore, and Felicity pushed past Tommy, all but shoving him aside as she finished prying away the control panel cover Tommy’d been working on; she stared into the crazed mess of wires and circuits inside, half of them seemingly wired in loops around and _to_ each other, possibly for the explicit purpose of misdirection. She whimpered, “Shit, shit, _shit_. There’s not enough time. There’s not enough _time_.”

Behind her, standing shoulder to shoulder with Tommy, Oliver stared at the countdown and ground out, “Three minutes, fifty-two seconds.”

Felicity, on her knees, turned towards them, tears pricking her eyes—this was it, this was the _end_. No rescue could come quick enough. Both of them stood looking at her, Oliver desperate and sorry and grimly resigned; Tommy sadly, stunned, shellshocked and frightened. Felicity glanced over her shoulder—two minutes, thirty seconds.

Feeling a rush of anger and frustrated futility, she came to an impulsive decision and surged to her feet. “The hell with it. If I’m about to die locked in a room with the two of you, I’m at least going to settle some curiosity once and for all—and go out on a good note.”

Both their faces furrowed in confusion, and Oliver got his mouth open to question her—but not before Felicity crashed against Tommy’s chest, fingers twisting in the soft cotton of his T-shirt before she stood on her tiptoes to slant her mouth across his.

For a moment, Tommy stood stock still, frozen in shock, then one hand came under elbow, the other slipping to her lower back and pressing her closer as he parted his lips for her, drawing her tongue into his mouth with his own.

At last, they broke apart, gasping, and Felicity balanced against him as she looked back at the clock—one minute. Sliding down Tommy’s body to fall flat-footed again, Felicity stepped back and turned to Oliver, who stood a little apart, staring at her with his eyebrows high and something utterly unreadable in his eyes.

Keeping their gazes locked, she took three slow, deliberate steps towards him, until she stood in his space, neck craned back to look up at him. “We’ve only got one minute to live, Oliver.”

He stared down at her like he was in agony, breathing harsh, until something in his face _snapped_ , and with a soft growl, he wrapped one arm behind her back and cupped the back of her head in his other hand, drawing her against him and up to his mouth. Their lips pressed urgently, tongues tangling with hungry heat, swallowing this moment down with the bitter pill of ending.

Tommy, breathing hard against the wall, tore his eyes from them and to the clock, counting down under his breath in a hopeless, small voice, “Five, four, three, two, one—”

And then with a shrill beep, the clock stuttered to four zeroes—and the sealed, handle-less door beside it popped quietly open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one, like others you may have noticed as a trend, got well out of hand. Did I mention I am absolute shit at the "five sentences" part of these prompt rules? (And now you know why I've been so horridly abusing semicolons and dashes.)


	27. Dirty Little Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver suspects nothing as they carry on right under his nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by girlwithsixsmiles. Direct follow up from chapter 23.

"So that was close. Do you think he suspects anything?" 

Felicity spun in her chair to look up at him, eyes darting across to the closed bathroom door, behind which Oliver was showering—Tommy may be counting on the spray to cover their conversation, but she just didn’t trust Oliver’s scary ninja hearing. “Are you kidding? The idea that you and I are friends still sometimes confuses him. He does that weird slow ‘oh yeah’ blink every time I tell him you texted me or something. He’s nowhere near making the mental leap that _friends_ is not all that’s going on here.”

Tommy snorted and leaned slowly down, hands bracing on the arms of Felicity’s chair as he brought his face just above hers, regaining her attention with a sly smirk. “So he’s not aware that some of those texts say ‘hey, you forgot your panties here, should I bring them to the office?’”

Felicity laughed helplessly and rolled her eyes. “ _One time_ , Merlyn, you are never letting that go. And I still can’t believe you thought it would be okay to deliver my underwear to me _at my desk_.”

Tommy shrugged. “Hey, I disguised it with bringing you lunch. Oliver obviously didn’t figure it out.” He dipped his head a fraction and touched a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, drawing away just enough to look her in the eyes. “You forget, I’m the one who doesn’t give a shit if he knows we have sex or not.”

She crossed her legs, at this closeness between his, her knee brushing high along his inner thigh with the movement and causing his breath to hiss in between his teeth as she smirked and licked her lips, the tip of her tongue brushing his lower lip, still so close. “And since _I’m_ the one who _does_ give a shit if he knows or not, you might consider being a little more careful if you want the sex to continue.”

He slipped his hands over hers on the armrests, fingers stroking the backs of her wrists as dipped his head lower and pressed a trail of hot, open-mouth kisses up her neck to her ear. “Oh, I want.” And then he pulled back and stood, satisfied by the quick pout on her lips as he straightened his shirt and stepped back. “So if you want me to be more careful, I’m gonna have to leave now, or things’re gonna get _really_ obvious when Oliver gets out of there in a few minutes.”

Felicity laughed, and Tommy grinned at the color flushing her cheeks as she waved a hand at him. “Go, then. Get out of here.” And then she leveled him with a piercing, scorching glance and knowing smirk that went straight to his groin. “I’ll see you tonight.”


	28. What It Looks Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diggle's not really sure what he just walked in on, or if he really wants to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by LadyChi

"Okay," Diggle said from the doorway, "I'm just going to go ahead and assume that this is not what I think it is."

Felicity stood behind Oliver, who was bent over the medical bench, shirtless, Felicity’s tall, shiny black heels putting her hips right at level with Oliver’s backside. This might not have been weird, except she was dressed in a black vinyl bustier and very tiny shorts, like some sort of cross between a dominatrix and a Playboy bunny; the look was completed by wildly teased, tumbling blonde curls, an excess of dramatic eyeliner, and very, very red lips.

Felicity stared at Diggle as he descended to the bottom of the foundry steps, his duffle bag in hand, and her eyes were comically wide, lips stretching into a confused, nervous smile as she held a pair of large metal tweezers poised over the small of Oliver’s back.

"Yes, Diggle," Oliver said dryly, looking up at him from where he propped his weight against the metal bench on his forearms, "it’s true—you’ve stumbled on our sex-dungeon fantasy. Please, lose the pants and join in or leave."

Snapping out of her surprise, Felicity rolled her eyes and made a face, her empty hand coming down to slap stingingly in between Oliver’s shoulder blades censuringly. “Do _not_ joke, Oliver Queen, there were days when that could have been a thing you did.” She was unaware of the way Oliver’s eyebrows popped high up on his forehead and his face went very carefully blank when her palm struck flat against the skin of his back, and Diggle _wished_ he could now be unaware that Oliver probably enjoyed being spanked—not an image he particularly needed, thank you. Felicity recaptured his attention by gesticulating wildly with the tweezers. “Minor undercover mission, thus the getup. Stupid here tripped in an attic and somehow got an enormous splinter in the back, so I get to jab him with pointy things while looking like a total BDSM mistress.”

Her words settled into the air and they all just sort of stared at nothing, blinking, and Felicity wondered aloud, “Do you ever just stop and realize that our lives are _really_ weird.”

Diggle chuckled, shook his head, and tossed his duffle towards the corner. “Hell yes, all the time. I swear to god, I leave for one night and this is what you two get up to?” He shook his head again, walking towards them. “I think the threesome invitation might’ve been less ridiculous.”


	29. Sara and Felicity Don't Go to White Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara and Felicity get themselves into and out of a scrape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Ferggirl (notababoonbrandishingastick)

Her eye was swollen shut, she had at least two bruised ribs, and she couldn't stop smiling.

Felicity threw her arm around Sara’s shoulder and let the other woman support her weight as they walked towards Diggle and Oliver, who stood staring at them, aghast as the women ambled away from the burning warehouse, Felicity with her torn and dirty clothes and spectacular bruising, and Sara with wild hair, a bloody scrape on her jaw, and raw-rubbed wrists.

"What the _fuck_ happened here?” Oliver demanded, breaking out of the boys’ collective shock and striding quickly towards Felicity and Sara.

Diggle, still a little agog, stepped forward, joining in the questioning. “You two disappeared four hours ago and we only just tracked Felicity’s cell here. The hell did we miss?”

Honest to god giggling, Felicity, said, “China White. She wanted Sara, I was bonus. And boy did _she_ regret that! I kicked her _ass_.”

Oliver couldn’t have looked more bewildered if he’d tried. “China White? Triad China White? You did _what_?”

Nodding emphatically and not unlike a bobblehead, Felicity grinned and repeated, “Kicked her ass. Tore her up. Beat the fuck out of her.”

Oliver finally settled a hand on Felicity’s shoulder, his confusion giving way slightly to concern as he looked to Sara.

Sara nodded, smiling, eyes crinkling at the corners like she was both amused by and proud of Felicity. “She really did. China was gonna try and use Felicity here to make me tell her about the League, and she was so busy waving Felicity around like a toy she wasn’t even paying attention. Our girl got her good with an elbow to the gut and nose, then picked up a two-by-four and fucking _whaled_ on her.”

Felicity giggled again, then scoffed. “ _So_ tired of being the hostage. I _maaaay_ have let my temper get away from me a little.”

Diggle reached around Oliver to tilt Felicity’s head up and get a good look at her face, still wearing that wide, goofy smile. Directed to Sara, he asked, “And the fire? Did China White have any guards or henchmen we should be worried about?”

Felicity snorted and wrinkled her nose. “Not anymore!” Diggle took Felicity’s weight from Sara, forcing Oliver to drop his hand, and Felicity stared up at John. “Digg, you have really pretty eyes. All warm and kind and soulful, I really _like_ soulful, it’s a great word.”

Sara’s eyes stayed on Felicity and, her head shaking imperceptibly, said, “I took care of White’s men. And the fire was Felicity.” Oliver’s eyes narrowed, and Sara’s rolled. Shrugging, she explained, “We needed a distraction.”

Diggle was peering into Felicity’s eyes and patiently ignoring her hand stroking the side of his head as she murmured about the texture of his hair. “Sara, did Felicity get knocked in the head? Do we need to be worried about concussion?”

Sara made a dismissive face. “Nah, she didn’t take the punch too hard.” Holding her forefinger and thumb ever so slightly apart, she continued, “She’s just a _teensy_ bit high. It wore off on me faster.”


	30. She'll Fly or She'll Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity is faced with jumping out of a plane again, and it's even less fun than last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Anonymous

Felicity just didn't understand how exactly she kept getting talked into jumping out of planes.

Of course, the gun at her back this time was more convincing than Diggle had been, if infinitely less reassuring.

Tears pulled from her eyes as the wind from the open door whipped around her, and Felicity shook as she held tight to the strap hanging from the ceiling in increasing desperation, her head shaking back and forth and the low moan of, “No, no, no, _please,_ no,” drowned by the loud rush of the air and the engine of the small, illicitly requisitioned skydiving plane.

She turned her head to look over her shoulder at where Oliver and Diggle were tied to the benches in the corner, straining against the bungee cords wrapping their wrists, ankles and waists, shouting incoherently over each other at the masked man behind Felicity, though both her boys kept their eyes on her.

The man with the gun dug the barrel harder against Felicity’s spine and shouted loud and clear over to Oliver, “What’s it going to be, Mr. Queen! Will you give my compatriot there the transfer codes we require?” He nodded at the other masked man seated on the opposite bench from Oliver and Diggle, a tablet in his hands, “Or do we find out if your Wendy-bird can fly?”


	31. A Crooked Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy needs help while he heals (and so does Felicity.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by burningletter-

All in all, Felicity thought, waking up from a nightmare to see Tommy Merlyn next you wasn't really a bad thing.

She lay in the dark, quietly shaking atop the covers, tears spiking her lashes and blurring vision already made poorer for the lack of glasses, staring at the planes of shadow crossing Tommy’s cheek and jaw from the streetlight shining through the slats of her blinds. He breathed deep and even, the horse-pill painkillers she’d fed him before she fell asleep monitoring his breathing apparently doing their job to ease his discomfort enough for much-needed rest.

She could just see the large white gauze patch of his bandaging peeking through the crooked collar of his overlarge tee shirt—one she’d borrowed from Diggle—and in a few moments, she would check if that darkness was blood seeping through the stitches closing the tear in his shoulder where a piece of rebar had stabbed him in the shoulder as CNRI fell down on top of him just over a week ago.

But for now, she shuffled guiltily closer to this man she’d only barely begun to call friend before the world fell down and Oliver ran off to drown his guilt somewhere in the wilds of the world, and she found herself taking up Tommy’s care and recovery.

Their circumstances and the weight of the secrets, of the deaths that weighed on their consciences because of Malcolm Merlyn, and their respective blindness to his madness and inability to stop him, folded them into a strange bond of necessary trust and closeness only further fostered by his medical need for assistance as he healed for the next couple of weeks.

So, awkward as it might be in the morning, Felicity scooted across the covers neither had managed to get under before slipping into sleep, and pressed her forehead just slightly against the length of his forearm, curled up by his side. She breathed slowly and stared at the healing line of a scratch on his wrist, carefully matching her inhale and exhale to his, tuning closely in to the hushed bellows of his lungs to drown out the remembered crash and groan of the foundry’s equipment clattering down around her and the stress of the cement walls and ceiling threatening to give under the tremors.


	32. Need to Know Basis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity is leaving; Oliver is unhappy; Diggle is on her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Ferggirl (notababoonbrandishingastick)

"Why are you only telling me now?"

Felicity, scurrying behind Oliver in her three-inch heels to catch up with his ridiculously long strides, threw a dagger glare at his back, then glanced sideways to share an exasperated eyeroll with Diggle. “I told you _yesterday_. And last Wednesday. And the Friday before that. Seriously, Oliver, do you just hear that teacher from Charlie Brown when I talk unless I’m making a fool of myself with really terrible innuendos?”

John muffled a snicker with his hand and a faux cough, drawing a displeased eyebrow raise over the shoulder from Oliver as he drew up short at the elevator, his companions stopping to either side of him as he jabbed the button for the lobby. “Of course I hear when you talk Felicity, half the time you’re kind of right in my ear; it’s hard to miss.”

She scoffed and twisted her mouth irritably. “And yet somehow, five different times I told you ‘Oliver, on this specific date I will be heading out of town for three days on personal business, don’t plan anything big,’ and yet you remember _nothing_.”

He frowned and fidgeted with his suit coat, impatiently wishing the elevator were faster. “Are you sure you said anything? And where are you going anyway, Central City again?”

Digg sighed. “Yeah, man, she definitely told you. I was there, and _I_ actually listen.”

Felicity beamed at John and said, “That’s why you’re my favorite.” Oliver rolled his eyes, regretting it when he realized Felicity could see him in the reflection on the shiny elevator doors. Her disappointed-schoolteacher head tilt made a reappearance and she said, “As for where I’m going, I believe what I told you was _personal business_. Pretty sure that’s not the name of a fancy beach resort.”

Oliver turned to glare at her a little. “Felicity, this isn’t funny. We already have to put off the bust on the Triad’s new smuggling ring until you get back; I need to know where you’re supposed to be, in case of emergency.”

She rounded on him, hands on her hips. “Look, I know with our two jobs, we practically breathe, eat, and sleep each other— _damn_ it,” she paused for a breath, silently counting backward as OIiver remained cautiously stonefaced and Diggle coughed again behind him. “But I _do_ have a right to some privacy, to a personal life outside of you and your stuff. If I wanted you to know where I was going, I’d tell you. We all get some secrets, Oliver, mine can at least be where the hell I’m going for three days.”

He opened his mouth to protest further, but she held up a hand, forestalling him. “I will have my phone tracker enabled in case of emergency, and my personal tracker sewn into an article of clothing you do not need to know about. Diggle has an emergency contact in case you guys do something _really_ stupid. _Diggle_ does, and no, you can’t have it.”

Oliver stared at her, offended and a little hurt, and the lift chimed its arrival, the doors silently parting and admitting Felicity, who walked past Oliver as if the conversation were over. She further drove this home by leaning against the mirrored walls in the corner and very obviously pulling out her phone and busying herself.

Oliver and Diggle filed in after her, and as the elevator began its descent Oliver glared at Felicity, to no avail, and so turned to Diggle, jaw setting mulishly and eyebrows lowering with intent.

John merely stared at him, aloof and unruffled, and slowly, minutely shook his head, stage whispering, “It ain’t happening, Queen. Do your worst, all you’re getting is my name, rank, and serial number.”


	33. Can't Look Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diggle thinks Felicity looks beautiful tonight (and every night.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Ferggirl (notababoonbrandishingastick)

His hand flexed, tingling where it had just held hers.

Diggle tucked his hand behind his back, swallowing thickly as Felicity thanked him for helping her from the car and stepped away from the curb in her gorgeous gown, the cascading orange-red-gold-purple of a brilliant sunset, her hair braided into a knot at the crown of her head and leaving a long line of soft, smooth skin from the nape of her neck to the small of her back.

John smiled and nodded as Oliver took Felicity’s hand and tucked it into his elbow and the two headed towards the front doors of the museum, the flashbulbs of paparazzi vultures going off as Oliver Queen and his lovely EA headed inside to the gala held in Moira Queen’s honor, raising funds for her mayoral campaign.

Diggle sighed and got back into the car, driving it around to the specially designated lot to park so he could head inside and watch Oliver work the room and gladhand potential donors, while Felicity no doubt hovered near the table of appetizers.

Digg never could understand how an entire room of people could overlook Felicity’s beauty as if she were a commonplace, plain object. He’d never understand how Oliver managed to look past Felicity’s shining brilliance, time and again.

He almost wished he could manage the same.


	34. Call Me When You're Sober

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity's had a few too many, and Tommy takes care of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Macyaudenstarr

"Boop!" she poked him in the nose, giggling. "I think I'm a little drunk."

Tommy pulled his head back from her finger, eyes closed and lips pursed against his amusement, and struggled to keep his armful of Felicity Smoak from spilling to the sidewalk. He just needed to keep her upright until the cab arrived. “Really, I hadn’t noticed.”

She dropped her forehead against his clavicle and snickered, the little puffs of air against the vee of his chest exposed by his undone top few buttons raising the hair on the back of his neck. “Okay, maybe more than a _little_ drunk.”

Tommy sighed and smiled helplessly down at the top of Felicity’s head, one hand leaving her waist to pat down a stray curl that had flipped into a loop over her part. “Any particular reason you decided to get a little sauced?”

She laughed, head tipping back enough to prop her chin just under the hollow of his throat, eyes twinkling up at him, seeming larger with eyeliner and her lack of glasses. Wrapping her arms around his ribs, she smirked up at him. “Maybe I was feeling a little saucy.” He raised a brow, and she rolled her eyes, the gesture somehow threatening her balance on the tall heels she’d paired with the cute gold, sequined dress she was wearing. “I just wanted a little _fuuun_ , Tommy! Have you noticed my life is _really_ stressful?”

"I had picked up on that, yeah," Tommy laughed. Felicity buried her face against his chest again, the tip of her nose nuzzling at his chest hair, making him startle. "Uh, _Felicity_ —”

"You smell really good," she sighed, laying her cheek against his shoulder and frowning. "I didn’t have as much fun as I wanted to."

Tommy blinked rapidly and swallowed. “Well, that _is_ a damn shame. How come?”

She wrinkled her nose and leaned back a little, craning to look behind him, at the facade of Verdant and its long line of hopeful partiers stretching from the door. “I shoulda picked a different club. Don’t shit where you eat, right?” Tommy blinked, caught off guard by that phrase in her mouth. “I _really_ wanted to pick some clean-looking guy with good hands and a nice mouth and go f’r a ride, y’know.” She sighed. “But instead I just sat at the bar and drank too many fruity drinks.”

Tommy blinked, staring over Felicity’s head and struggling to shove away the realization that she had been hoping for an anonymous one-night stand. Nope, couldn’t do it.

It was his turn to sigh as the cab he’d called for pulled to the curb in front of them, and he set his hands on Felicity’s arms, unwinding them from around him and turning her to face the street. “Next time, Felicity, maybe stop at drink two.” He bundled her into the cab, handing off a wad of cash to the cabbie without looking. “And then come find me and ask me about how good I am with my hands and I’ll show you how nice my mouth is.”

Drunk or not, Felicity stared at him, eyes wide and mouth open, as he carefully shut the door, stepping back just as she began to grin. As the cab pulled away and he turned to head back into the club, he felt a knot form in his stomach and couldn’t decide if he hoped Felicity was or wasn’t too drunk to remember his offer in the morning.


	35. Work-Wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity desperately needs to escape from this work function.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Anonymous

"She is my work-wife, but also she's my wife-wife."

Felicity blinked slowly at the man standing in front of her in his neat tuxedo, her lips stretched stiffly in an awkward smile as the gentleman, with his slightly graying temples, squeezed an arm around the waist of the curvy woman almost twenty years his junior beside him. The lovely redhead ignored him—and his inappropriately wandering hand—as she tapped away at her smartphone. The man—god, she’d forgotten his name already, she was _terrible_ at this schmoozing crap—winked at Felicity, who forced a laugh and said, “How… cute.”

The older man chuckled patronizingly. “I’m just saying, keep an eye out for that Queen boy. Next thing you know, you could have a ring on your finger. But don’t worry, just ask Marie, here, doesn’t get in the way of your typing.” Marie glanced up at Felicity just long enough to roll her eyes, then returned to her phone—the large diamond on her ring finger glinting, and indeed not interfering with her typing at all.

Felicity laughed mechanically again, mumbled some kind of thank you, downed the champagne flute in her hand, and made her escape. Depositing her glass on the tray of a server she passed, she slipped through the crowd, eyes searching for Oliver. They’d been here for at least a couple of hours now, gladhanding investors and board members. Surely she could be excused.

She spotted him just as a woman about his mother’s age pressed his hand and walked away, and Felicity quickly moved to his side, hand slipping around his bicep and squeezing—good god, that was really firm—to get his attention. He leaned towards her, greeting her with a small, tired smile. “Hey, where’ve you been?”

She made a face at him. “In hell, I’m pretty sure. And by the way, just so you know, if you _ever_ call me your work-wife, I will wait until the next time you are unconscious after a fight and use one of your very own arrows to cut off your balls, okay?”

She patted his arm, smiling, and he blinked down at her, looking distinctly perturbed and not a little confused. “Um, _noted_.”

"Fabulous," she beamed at him. "Now, can we please get the hell out of here?"


	36. A Little Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy hadn't felt so peaceful in a long time—but couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Ferggirl (notababoonbrandishingastick)

 

The sun filtered through the trees, warming his face.

 

Tommy sat in the grass, his pants legs rolled up above his ankles and bare toes digging into the rich earth, and closed his eyes, breathing deeply in the peace and quiet of the sun-kissed summer clearing.

There was a strange, nagging sensation in his chest, just left of his heart, that told him something wasn’t quite right; there was something he was supposed to be doing, somewhere else he was supposed to be.

Eyes still closed, his brow furrowed slightly as he chased the thought, but it slipped away. What could possibly be more important than sitting right here? He hadn’t felt so content in a long, long time.

And yet… that nagging tug in his chest wouldn’t let up, in fact intensifying, becoming distinctly uncomfortable; almost painful.

Tommy opened his eyes slowly, frowning, and in front of him stood his mother—young and beautiful as his memory, but sharper edged and clearer than his mind had recalled her in a long time. She stood over him, smiling, wearing a light blue sundress he remembered from a picnic when he was seven. “Mom… what are you doing here? I’m supposed to be—somewhere else. I’m supposed to be doing something.” Tommy frowned harder, the tug in his chest growing in a sharp, penetrating ache. “I think someone needs me.”

His mother smiled down at him, soft and a little sad. She reached out and feathered her fingertips along his cheek, sifting through the hair at his temple. “No, Tommy, my sweetheart. No one needs you anymore. You’re where you have to be.”

Tommy’s brows pulled together tighter, his breath hitching around the growing pain in his chest; still, he couldn’t help leaning into her palm. “I don’t think so, Mom. I think… Oliver. Or Laurel? There was something…”

His mother sighed, still wearing that sad, sweet smile. “No, honey. There’s nothing more you can do for them.” He stared up at her, one hand coming up to cover the back of hers on his face, his expression confused and questioning. “Sweetheart, you’re dead.”

Tommy’s lips parted, his face clearing and eyes widening. “Oh. Yeah… that—that happened, didn’t it.”

All at once, the pain in his chest vanished, and he could finally take a deep, cleansing breath.

His mother stepped back, her fingers slipping from his face, and offered him both hands. “Let’s go.”

Hesitating only a moment, Tommy took his mother’s hands, stood, and walked away with her into the woods.


	37. Mother of a Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity is distressed, and Diggle needs to know why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Ferggirl (notababoonbrandishingatsick)

"Calm down, I can't understand you when you talk that fast."

Felicity broke off in the middle of a word and sucked in a deep breath, holding it for a silent count of three before releasing it in a rush. Diggle stood by, arms folded patiently, and regarded her with fond amusement.

That amusement crumbled the moment she closed her eyes and tucked her lips between her teeth, an expression he knew well meant she was struggling with something big, and usually painful. John instantly shifted his weight towards her, hands dropping to the sides to be ready—for whatever she needed. “Felicity, start again. Tell me.”

She sucked in a long, slow breath, then raised her eyes to his, and he felt his shoulders tense up at the sight of the tears dotting her lashes behind the lenses of her glasses. “Sorry. I just… She always gets me really worked up.”

Diggle found his hands hovering to either side of Felicity’s arms, wanting to offer her a supportive touch, not sure if it would be welcome right now. “She, who, Felicity? I literally missed everything you said before.”

Felicity did that thing he’d noticed she did when she was feeling insecure and worried she was making a nuisance of herself, drawing into herself tightly to become somehow even smaller; it decided Digg, and he gently placed his hands on her arms just above her elbows, pressing his fingers so she’d know he was there for her.

Eyes searching his for something, she nodded minutely and said, “My mother. She’s coming to visit. I’m… I’m gonna need a little time off, two or three days, just long enough to get rid of her, but I can’t be available to you guys, at all, while she’s here, and I’m sorry.”

Diggle’s brow furrowed deeply, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Okay, so you need some time off to see your mom. Why are you so upset?”

Felicity’s chin dropped and she stared at the floor. “Because seeing her is literally the last thing I want in the world.”


	38. Confessions on a Dance Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara admits to an ulterior motive for her girls' night out with Felicity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by burningletter-

'Next time I agree to have a girls' night with Sara,' Felicity thought to herself, 'I'm going to have to ask her exactly what she has planned.'

She tugged again at the incredibly high hemline of her little black dress, and privately wondered if Sara had not in fact handed her a long-waisted tanktop to wear.

Sara returned from the bar with their drinks, sliding Felicity’s Sex on the Beach in front of her and grinning. “What’s the matter, Felicity? You look uncomfortable.”

Felicity gave her a droll look, missing the glasses she would normally peer over to give the look more effect, and took hold of the stem of her drink. “I’m pretty sure the last time I wore fishnet stockings was a Rocky Horror showing. I let you drag me here in this getup on faith, are you going to tell me what we’re doing yet?”

Sara smirked, gesturing with one hand to her own ensemble. “I thought it was pretty obvious Verdant was doing a Madonna night. We got in free because we came in costume.”

Felicity’s eyes dropped to Sara’s chest. “Yeah, no, I figured _that_ part out with the cone-bra and teased hair. And you know we would get in here free anyways, right? You work here. I kind-of work here and Thea has me on the list. I get in whenever, the bouncers all know me.”

Sara sipped at her mojito, still smiling. “What, I couldn’t just want to hang out with you? Dance a little?”

Felicity laughed helplessly, but shook her head. “We haven’t exactly done any dancing yet.”

Sara grinned suddenly and jumped out of her seat, snatching Felicity by the wrist and hauling her bodily up onto her tall heels. “Then let’s go!”

She dragged Felicity laughing onto the dance floor, and Felicity gave in and got into the music, enjoying the hell out of herself; she loved to dance, and Sara was clearly good at it.

As the music slipped into a new song, Sara ended up behind Felicity, close, one hand sitting on Felicity’s waist as they bent their knees and dipped together. They came up laughing, and Sara leaned in to shout into Felicity’s ear. “Okay, I might as well confess! I _did_ have an ulterior motive!” She slipped an arm over Felicity’s shoulder and pointed in the direction of the bar. “I also _really_ wanted to see the look on his face when he saw us like this!”

Felicity followed Sara’s line of sight—and found Oliver, standing by the bar in one of his suits. He had clearly located Sara and Felicity among the dancers, and his high eyebrows, dropped jaw, and flushed cheeks suggested he hadn’t _just_ spotted them.

Felicity would have blushed if she weren’t already flush from dancing, but she turned close against Sara’s body, dropping her own arms onto her grinning friend’s shoulders and, smiling, said, “I’m going to kill you.”

Sara tipped her had back and laughed. “You _know_ he’s going to dream about this tonight.”

Felicity sighed, head dropping to Sara’s shoulder, where she gently beat her forehead against Sara’s collarbone. “Nevermind. I’m going to kill _myself_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the Madonna album of the same name. ;)


	39. A Song in Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity and Tommy go on a road trip, and Felicity uncovers Tommy's hidden talent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by girlwithsixsmiles
> 
> This is adherent to an AU developed with ohemgeeitscoley, in which Tommy survived the Undertaking, woke up in Coast City as a John Doe, and chose not to come forward as alive until he needed Felicity's help. He swore her to secrecy, they took up confessional long-distance texting, became friends, and Felicity sort of broke down and left Starling with nothing but a note and a "Don't look for me" for Oliver and company. (God I've been waiting forever to make that pun.) So Felicity meets up with Tommy, they take up false identities, and go on a roadtrip of denial, escape, and self-discovery.
> 
> The AU itself is (mostly) unwritten at this time, and will be posted/written by Coley. This is just me guest ficcing helplessly.

"Please tell me you were a cruise ship singer in a past life."

Tommy stopped short as he exited the motel bathroom ahead of a cloud of steam, his sweatpants slung low on his hips and his tee shirt draped over his shoulder as he toweled his damp hair.

Felicity lay on her stomach on the bed nearest the bathroom, bare feet in the air and crossed at the ankles, her arms folded in front of her breasts—creating an attractive decolletage above the scoop neckline of her tanktop that Tommy was _definitely_ not noticing—elbows propping her up as she grinned at him, her fraying braid over her shoulder.

Tommy blinked, eyebrows coming together as a crooked, confused smile spread over his face. “I’m sorry, _what_?”

She grinned wider, tossing her head in the direction of the bathroom. “I heard you in there. Was that Sinatra? Seriously, Tommy? All this time you’ve had this amazing voice. You’ve been holding out on me.”

Tommy felt his ears pinken—though he couldn’t be certain if this was because she’d heard him, her compliment, or the way her eyes slid down his damp chest and lower before quickly darting back up to rest on his face—and tucked his lips in as he smiled at her. “You enjoyed that, huh?”

Felicity’s eyebrows shot up incredulously. “Are you _surprised_? Tommy, if that bathroom were a stage, I would feel obligated to throw my panties at you. You are _really_ good.”

Tommy snapped his fingers exaggeratedly, shaking his head. “Ah, for want of a stage!” She rolled her eyes, and he chuckled. “I’m not formally trained or anything. Well, not really. Not since I was a kid.”

He moved to sit on the corner of the bed opposite hers, smile broadening in amusement as she shuffled along the scratchy bedspread to stay facing him. She propped her chin on her fists, smiling and brows up, clearly encouraging him to continue.

His smile softened, eyes going a little distant as he rubbed at his hair absently with the tiny motel towel. “My mother was professionally trained. _Huge_ fan of music, loved Ella Fitzgerald, Nina Simone, all of that stuff. When I was a little kid, we’d sing together, she’d coach me.” His smile dimmed, eyes on the tacky, stained, low-pile beige carpet. “After she died, I didn’t sing at all for like two years. Then, on the third anniversary of her death, I shut myself up in her closet and played her records and sang and sang until my voice went out. Then I’d sing in the shower. Or in the car, or just whenever I was thinking about her.

"I didn’t do it to be good at it; I did it because I loved, because she loved it and we loved it together. I taught myself to get better at it to sort of, I don’t know, honor her, I guess." He smiled, sad and fond, and lifted his gaze back to Felicity’s face; she watched him raptly, in quiet, solemn attentiveness. "I don’t do it much, around people. Oliver and Laurel, some. I used to sing to Thea a little, when she was really small. It’s just… it’s private."

He watched Felicity flush and his brows drew in as she bit her lip, dropping her gaze like she was ashamed. “I’m—I’m sorry, Tommy, I didn’t mean to listen in, or—or make you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have teased. I didn’t realize. It’s just that you sing so beautifully, and it was surprising, but really wonderful, and… I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, reaching across the short distance between them to lay his hand atop hers where her fingers nervously plucked at each other. “Hey. Why are you sorry?”

She looked up and he was startled to see her eyes damp, a truly miserable expression pulling on her features. “You said it was private, and it’s obviously really personal to you, and I didn’t mean to intrude. It’s something special you only share with—with people like Oliver, and Laurel, and I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Tommy frowned, squeezing her hands. “Felicity, stop. It is private. I only sing around people I’m really comfortable with. I wouldn’t have done it where you might overhear if I wasn’t comfortable with you.” She frowned at him uncertainly, and he sucked in a breath, struck not for the first time by how unbelievable it was, the way she consistently undervalued herself and pushed herself to the side—before anyone else could do it to her, he’d guess. “I mean it, Felicity. We share a car most hours of the day, and a single motel room more nights than not. We lumped our whole unknown futures in together on this little road trip, and you think you don’t count as—as close enough to me to share something like this with?”

She looked down, unable to hold his gaze, and shrugged a little. He slipped his fingers into her palms, encompassing both of her hands in his grip and rubbing his thumb along the knuckles of her left hand. “Felicity, you matter. That’s not something you’re ever gonna have to doubt again, okay?”

Felicity said nothing and he sighed, content enough in the victory that she didn’t argue with him or brush his words aside—for now. Determined to ease the mood, he pulled his hand from hers and slipped into his tee shirt. Head popping free of the collar, he scrubbed his fingers through his damp hair, watching her lips tug at the way it spiked up wildly all over, and he grinned at her. “So, cruise ship singer?”

Her smile expanded, a little bashfully. “What, would you prefer Vegas casino lounge singer?”


	40. Worst Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy and Felicity, tired of being ignored by Oliver and Laurel, hatch a terrible plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by macyaudenstarr

"We have an unlimited amount of money, and only three weeks to get their attention. What do you say, you want to do something stupid with me?"

Felicity squinted at Tommy, worrying the end of her pen between her teeth. Slowly, she pulled the pen from her lips and smiled. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

Leaning against the medical bench, hands in his slacks pockets and ankles crossed, he grinned at her, slow and dangerous. “That, Ms. Smoak, is a _very_ loaded question.” He only smiled wider to see her cheeks flush slightly.

“ _Tommy._ " He bit back a comment about the way she said his name, eyes crinkling as she pinned him with a look that said she knew exactly what he was thinking anyways. "Seriously, pretty much _any_ serious answer not including strippers, prostitutes, or sky-writing would be welcome.”

Tommy coughed a surprised chuckle, squinting and smiling at her. “ _Sky-writing_?”

She waved a hand expansively, shaking her head, lips pressed together. “Don’t ask, Tommy, just… don’t ask.”

Laughing, he replied, “I will not. No, no sky-writing. Although I am a little put out about the no strippers thing, that could have been fun.” She rolled her eyes, but he shrugged, focusing a boyish grin on her. “What! We could get guy strippers, too. I am an equal opportunity appreciator of the ability to work a pole.”

Felicity’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he grinned teasingly, happy to let her sit and think on that comment. She blinked and visibly shook herself. “Nevertheless. No strippers. A little _too_ impersonal for me, and if I develop a desperate craving for somebody on a pole, I’d rather do it myself.”

It was Tommy’s turn to let his eyebrows climb to his hairline, and he couldn’t deny his mouth dropped open and eyes glazed for a moment as he pictured it. She really did have phenomenal legs, so he could actually picture it _really_ clearly…

"Tommy," she said, laughing, drawing him out of his imagination. "Did I lose you?"

He nodded, slowly. “Yes, definitely, for a minute there. Honestly, Felicity, you can’t causally mention you know how to work a pole and _not_ expect me to picture it in vivid, graphic detail.”

She cleared her throat, lips tucked in to dampen her smile and a flush creeping up from her neck into her cheeks. “My exercise hobbies _aside_ , can we get back to this do-something-stupid plan of yours?”

He just shook his head slowly, exhaling long and windy as he showily dragged his eyes away from her long, bare legs to her face. “Fine, fine. So, step one: hire a private jet. Step two: rent out a private resort in someplace like Tahiti. Sun, sand, water, oil massages.”

She raised a brow. “That sounds kind of awesome, actually, but isn’t it a little overkill? We wanted to get their attention, not cause a PTSD flashback. The whole island thing seems a little mean.”

Tommy scoffed. “What do you even think of me? That’s just the first half of the first week. They won’t catch up to us until we’ve _left_ the beach and are partying in Barcelona. And then if they’re particularly slow on the uptake, we might make it to Venice before they crash the scene.”

She narrowed her eyes on him again, attractively worrying her plum-shaded lower lip with her teeth. “And we _want_ to get the attention of the paparazzi?”

Tommy nodded emphatically, pushing off from the bench and crossing the concrete floor to where she sat in front of her monitors. He held his hands out to her, and after sticking her pen between her teeth, she took them. He hauled her up from her seat, keeping hold of her hands as he stood within her space, smiling down at her.

"We’re tired of being ignored, right? Of being forgotten, held in reserve? As only being mentioned in the press as ‘neglected’, ‘discarded’, ‘pining’, or ‘convenient’?" Slowly, lips frowning a little around the barrel of the pen, she nodded.

His smile stretched a little, fondly. “Then let’s go and stir up a scandal, on our own terms.”

And he leaned forward, took the other end of the pen between his teeth and wrapped his lips around the cap, and tugged it away from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know, I'm sorry.


	41. It's Not Polite to Mess with Mother Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry hits the Halloween party at Verdant and gets caught up by Thea Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by burningletter. She asked for "Thea/Barry, Mother Nature"

Barry ducked around a gaggle of young women in tiny dresses, the strobing multicolored lights of Verdant making it all but impossible to tell what their Halloween costumes were, beyond “sexy” something.

Spotting Felicity at the corner of the bar, he squeezed his way around a few more people and stopped in front of her. “Wow, Felicity! You look—you look good! But who’re you supposed to be?” He scanned his eyes down her skinny jeans, high-heeled black ankle boots, and leather jacket with a tanktop underneath. She was wearing her contacts and had her hair free in loose curls around her shoulders.

Felicity grinned and shook her head at him, lifting a fist wrapped around a dully-point wooden stake.

Barry got it and laughed, smiling broadly. “Buffy Summers! Should’ve guessed.”

She snorted. “You’d be the first. Oliver and Digg thought I forgot to come in costume.”

Barry peered around, but didn’t spot either imposing men. “Where are they, anyways?”

Felicity rolled her eyes. “Hiding, probably. They vanished twenty minutes ago and didn’t even leave me a good excuse to do the same.” She shrugged. “Whatever, Sara’s bartending and Thea’s supposed to catch up with me when she’s done playing social butterfly. And there’s you, so I’m still here with friends.” She gave him a critical onceover, and he spread his hands and grinned, happy to show off his costume. “Barry, did you miss a memo?”

Barry’s smile slipped and he pulled at the lapels of his white labcoat. “What? I dressed up!”

Felicity’s eyebrows were high. “As a CSI guy? Well, I guess it’s better than the red jumpsuit.”

Barry grimaced, insulted both over his Flash gear—which was decidedly _not_ a jumpsuit, as he kept telling her—and over his costume. “I’m Bruce Banner!”

Felicity stared at him, then bent forward, laughing. “Of _course_ you are!”

"Of course he’s what?" Thea interrupted, appearing beside Barry as if by magic. She turned and looked him up and down. "Oh! Skinny Hulk."

Barry looked down at her and made showcasing hands. “Thank you! Can you believe this girl calls herself a nerd?”

Just then, he took notice of Thea’s costume—and hers was indeed a jumpsuit, flesh-colored semi-sheer bodystocking material with strategically embroidered green thread and tasteful plastic leaves sewn on. She wore tall, dark green heels, and though it was certainly a daring costume, she pulled it off with confidence and magnificent style.

Barry realized he was staring, a little agape, and coughed, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Uh—you look—you look fantastic! I mean, you look great, that’s a, that’s a great costume!” He grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut and tipping back his chin with a groan. “Do not tell your brother, please, he will snap me in half.”

Thea just laughed, grinning up at him and resting a hand on his upper arm. “Mr. Allen, every time I meet you I like you more.” Glancing at Felicity, she gave an apologetic shrug. “I know I just got here, but I’m going to borrow Barry here for a dance. You mind?”

Felicity was tucking her lips in a poor effort to stifle a smile and shrugged back at the younger girl. “No! Go right ahead.”

"Uh," Barry protested nervously, "That’s probably a bad idea! I can’t—I _really_ can’t dance.”

Thea just grinned, a wolfish curl that both alarmed and thrilled him—which alarmed him even more. “Out on the club dance floor, sweetie, it _really_ doesn’t matter. Now come on!” Winking, she hooked her hand in his elbow and started hauling him away. “It’s not polite to mess with Mother Nature.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit to being very disappointed no one realized I have Thea quoting Uma Thurman as Poison Ivy.


	42. Cat Scratch Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy's got fresh scratches and bad excuses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For burningletter. Prompt was "Tommy/Felicity, Cat."

"Dude, you okay?"

Tommy turned in surprise, brows furrowing to find Roy standing behind him, his own expression one of concern and curiosity, eyes trained on Tommy’s shoulder. “Yyyyyeah, why?”

Roy’s eyebrows went up and he nodded at Tommy’s shoulder. “Those look gnarly, man, d’you lose a fight?”

Tommy frowned and set down the wooden staff he’d been practicing with on the workout mats, turning his head to try and see his own shoulder. Tugging at the loose collar of his t-shirt, Tommy clenched his jaw and bit back a curse as he realized there was a row of bright red scratches scoring his shoulder, and he knew they traced from the middle of his shoulder blade down to his collarbone.

"Ah, yeah, it’s nothing. There’s this stray cat I’ve been befriending in the alley behind my apartment. Tried to pick her up, but apparently nightly feeding doesn’t earn me petting privileges just yet," Tommy lied smoothly, tugging his shirt back over the scratches and shrugging with his mouth at Oliver’s hotheaded protege.

Roy snorted, the look in his eye not quite believing. Shaking his head, he said, “You should probably put some ointment or something on that. Y’know. Cat scratch fever.”

Tommy nodded. “Right. At least I shouldn’t need a tetanus shot.”

Tommy turned away, then, ending the conversation, and glanced up, happening to catch Felicity’s eye over her monitors. He held her gaze for a second, just long enough to see her cheeks pinken and fuchsia lips curl in a satisfied smirk.

Tommy licked his lips and stifled a grin, quickly looking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously this is an AU in which Tommy lives and at least casually hangs out with Team Arrow. (Because this is me, and 90% of my AUs are TommyLives! AUs.)


	43. Down the Longest Road to Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity's life is rolling out ahead of her in two different directions, and she has to make a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Ferggirl (notababoonbrandishingastick.) Prompt was "Oliver/Felicity, Two Roads."

Felicity stood at her front door, a packed suitcase at her feet, a fold of hundreds stuffed in her bra, a fake ID in her back pocket, and a burner cell in her purse.

Her smartphone was in her hand, and she stared down at it, hopeless, helpless.

 **OQ:** Felicity I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

 **OQ:** Will you be at the foundry tomorrow?

 **OQ:** Please.

Felicity inhaled, breath hitching as tears hung on her lashes and her lips trembled.

Everything she couldn’t live without was packed into the bag by her front door—the door she had been _so goddamn determined_ to walk out of for the very last time not five minutes ago.

And she could see it. She could see the two ways this could go.

She could drop the phone and her keys on the hall table, pick up her rolling suitcase and walk away, and never look back. She’d disappear, thoroughly enough she might as well be another of Oliver Queen’s ghosts. She knew how.

She could find somewhere to start over, keep her head down, her heart and mouth shut, grow out her roots and get laser eye surgery and live her days out, safe and alone and quiet. So quiet.

Or she could hit “Reply” and turn around, drag her suitcase back into her room, kick off her flats and strip out of her comfortable, nondescript travel clothes. She could get in the bathtub, cry into the bubbles, and remind herself, again, why her life was about _so much more_ than Oliver Queen and his stupid fucking… everything. Why she did what she did. Who she did it _for_. How it made her feel and how many lives she had saved.

She would spend the next handful of years toughening up—firewalls, her body, her heart. Until, inevitably, the job killed her, because she’d figured it would not long after she started spending all her nights underground.

She could smile at Digg and crack jokes with Roy and laugh with Sara. And learn to move faster than the fall of Oliver’s hand on her shoulder, learn to be impervious to him standing right up against her chair as she broke down missions.

There were two ways this could go.

So she made a choice.

 **FS:** Okay.


	44. Do Not Disturb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't want to share her today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For isaac-puppy-eyes-lahey. Prompt was "Tommy/Felicity, Do Not Disturb."
> 
> Another AU in which Tommy survived, but is keeping it secret. It's like an Arrow tradition; you can only come back from the dead after you've made all your loved ones mourn for a few years.

Felicity woke slowly, to soft white sheets and filtered sunbeams slanting across thick carpets. She inhaled deeply, smiling at the pressure of a soft kiss against her bare shoulder.

The kiss became a trail along her shoulders, across her arm, up her neck. Nose behind her ear, Tommy’s early morning stubble tickled her cheek and she shivered, squeaking involuntarily. He laughed, and she could smell a wave of mint that said he’d gotten up already and let her sleep.

"Mm, morning," she rasped.

"Good morning," he singsonged, grinning cheekily and running a hand down her side, pushing down the sheets as he went.

The sheet hit her hips and his fingers dipped under it, sliding further, and Felicity sighed, arching back and pushing her shoulders into his chest. “Tommy…”

"Stay," he murmured in her ear, fingers stroking. "I promise it will be worth it."

"Mm," she hummed, biting her lip, breath hitching. "I be—I believe you. But I _can’t_.”

Huffing as he gently bit her shoulder, she rolled over, dislodging his hand and propping herself onto her elbows so she could look him in the face, close and clear this near, even without her glasses. She frowned at him sternly, and he smiled like a saint.

A _filthy_ saint.

"Tommy, I have to go. I never call out. _Never_. I don’t take sick days, and I haven’t had a vacation in over two years.”

He huffed, mouth twisting a little bitterly. “Well, that’s _bullshit_. He needs to know he can’t monopolize you all the time.”

She raised her eyebrows, a soft reprimand. “And what are _you_ trying to do, Mr. Merlyn?”

He growled playfully, hands snaking around her waist and hauling her on top of him. “ _Stealing_ you. Two can play this Robin Hood game.”

She laughed, helpless, harried, even as he nipped under her chin and ran his palms up and down her back. “I am _nobody_ 's Maid Marion. I mean, maybe the newish BBC one, she was badass— _oh_ —but I’m not some… hah… princess in a tower to be held or—or stolen.”

Tommy sucked little kisses down the column of her throat, fingers curling around her ass. “Borrowing, then.”

She laughed again, hips helplessly hitching against his. “ _Tommy._ ”

He had nothing to say for himself, so put his mouth to better use against her skin—and then a buzzing sounded from the night stand.

He pulled away from her collarbone with a wet smack, glaring up at her as she turned towards the sound. “Felicity, _don’t_.”

She sighed, scooting half off of him to reach for her phone. Picking it up, she glanced at the screen and grimaced. “Text from Oliver. Tommy, I’m already running late.” She glanced at him, frowning sourly against the pillows. “Keeping the whole ‘you’re _alive_ ' thing secret is difficult enough. Do you really want him to find out because I'm late to work and he tracks my phone to your hotel room?”

Tommy gritted his teeth in annoyance. “I’m not—not ready for him to know yet.”

Felicity sighed, smiling in lopsided, tired understanding at him. “I know. Which is why I need to go.”

Tommy’s nostrils flared, frustration flashing through him. He wanted to be _selfish_ , just once. It’d been _so_ long since he’d indulged himself that way. 

Rolling onto his side, he hooked Felicity’s waist again and dragged her close, plucking her phone from her hands and shoving it under his ribs. “I’m not ready to let you leave, though, either. I put a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door. It should apply to the whole world, not just hotel staff—Oliver Queen included.”

She sighed, and pecked his lips. “I know. And as soon as you’re ready to be really back from the dead… we’ll make a date of it.” Then she rolled quickly away from him, stumbling slightly as she overdid it and slipped off the edge of the mattress, landing in a graceless crouch. Grinning at her own clumsiness, she winked across the sheets at him. “Today, I have to text your best friend that I slept through my alarm. And tonight, barring disaster, you are giving me at least three orgasms to make up for the strain of _lying_ to him.”

Tommy huffed as he watched her gather her clothes and head for the bathroom. “Work, work, work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so much sexier than I expected it to be. Whoops.


	45. The Things They Gave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They all made sacrifices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Ferggirl (notababoonbrandishingastick), who should really know better by now. "Team Arrow, Sacrifice."

They all sacrificed something to be here, night after night, to do what they did.

John gave up his possibility with Carly; gave up being around for his nephew the way he wanted to be. He gave up the simplicity of retiring into boring security jobs for empty-headed, fat-walleted rich people. The easy life.

(It had bored him to tears within weeks anyways.

Everything else was just tears.)

Roy struggled, but he came to grips with the secrecy he had wrapped his life in; the lies it meant he told the few he loved. The _one_ who loved him. Every day with every shitty excuse and terse word, he watched that sacrifice cost him Thea’s trust, her heart.

(He couldn’t say for sure, yet… if it was worth it. It didn’t feel worth it.)

Sara turned her back on the woman who’d raised her from ash; let slip through her fingers the one last chance to get back to _real life_ , with her family and a job and friends, simple and safe.

(She’d never been simple and she’d always been shit at safe. This was nothing new. So why did it still hurt?)

Felicity gave up her innocence, her naivete; her career and everything she’d worked for. She let it go when her reputation slipped into the mud. She resigned herself to sleepless nights and the ones that left her a few hours being filled with nightmares (hands on her skin, needles scratching, a fist in her hair.) She gave up her dignity, her independence, her heart. She gave up, it sometimes felt, _herself_.

(It was still her life. It was still her choice. Every time.)

Oliver, it seemed, didn’t know how to _stop_ sacrificing anymore. Everything he gained, he gave up in fear of losing it anyways. Every chance at happiness, he turned away in the name of the cause, in the name of his secrets, in the name of those he needed to protect. He gave and gave and gave.

(Sometimes he didn’t know why. Worse days, he did. Better days, he let Felicity tell him.)

One by one, they piled their sacrifices up on the altar of their mission. One by one they surrendered, everything little, so many things infinitely larger.

(One by one, they added their lives to the list of things surrendered and given away. Each of them a sacrifice, living—and dead.)


	46. Tap Tap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is that sound?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt "tap shoes" by sarahtwinkie (ihatepeas)

Roy stood in the center of the lair, looking around as he dropped his worn duffel bag at his feet. He’d been away for two weeks, searching for Thea, and he’d stopped back in here before even going home.

Peering into the empty corners of the large room, Roy wondered why he’d bothered when nobody was even here.

Suddenly, behind him came the sound of the door unlocking and swinging open. Roy turned around, brow furrowing as an odd clacking preceded Oliver, Diggle, and behind them, Felicity clad in what appeared to be a weird sort of tuxedo-leotard and sparkly sheer hose.

"Where the hell have you guys been?" Roy asked, chucking his chin at OIiver in greeting, who waved tiredly in response.

Diggle stepped up to Roy, clapping him on the back as the younger man glanced around furtively, trying to figure out where that rhythmic clacking was coming from. “Welcome back, kid.”

"Thanks, Roy said distractedly, eyes dropping at last to Felicity’s feet. "…Are you wearing tap shoes?"

Felicity, grumpy-faced, cut him a warning glance as she moved past him towards her desk. “Do. Not. Ask.”


	47. Take Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Digg worries about Felicity, and she wishes he would worry a little less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First line prompt provided by sarahtwinkie (ihatepeas)

“It just doesn’t sit right with me.”

Felicity rolled her eyes and scowled. “Yes, Digg. You have made that _abundantly_ clear. But you and Lyla are really busy getting baby-ready, and I’m _tired_ of how slow I’m progressing with this.” She swung around in her chair to give him a Look where he leaned against her desk. “It’s just a matter of time before I wind up in a hairy situation again and you know it. Next time, I want to be able to _do_ something, something that’s not crying and shaking and waiting for you or Oliver or Sara to save my butt.”

Diggle sighed and shook his head. “Now, Sara, _Sara_ would be an excellent choice.”

Felicity stared at him over her glasses, then swiveled back to her monitors. “Yeah, she would, but she’s off galavanting around the world with her hot assassin girlfriend, so, not super ideal in the teaching-me-to-kick-ass department after all.”

Digg pursed his lips together and rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe I could explain to Lyla. We could carve out one night a week, you and me?”

Felicity sighed, carefully laying her palms flat against the desktop. “Digg, I need this more than one night a week if I want to make real progress. And I don’t want you to sacrifice even more of your very precious time for me. Things are crazy right now, it’s okay. Oliver and I can pick up the slack.”

John sighed. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, Felicity.”

She smiled at him sunnily. “That’s why Oliver’s giving me lessons in badass.”

He stared at her under raised brows. “You _know_ what I meant.”

Her shoulders slumped, deflated. “I know. But Digg, it’s behind us.” She waved a hand in the air as if willing the subject to dissipate. “Oliver and I are—are just friends. We always have been. We always will be. It’s okay. It’s good. Great, even.”

"Right," John drawled, head shaking. "Great. Because you _don’t_ still watch him on the salmon ladder like he’s water in the desert. And he _definitely_ doesn’t stare after you like a lost puppy every time you walk away from him.”

Felicity tensed, lips pursing. “He does not. He’s just… having a hard time adjusting. To things.”

"Things like how he faked out confessing his love to you?" Digg snorted. "Or to that whole thing where you’ve started dating again to get over him?"

She shot him a glare. “Things like his family all being dead or gone. Being broke, relatively. Trying to get his company back. Those things, Diggle.”

He held up his hands in pacification. “I’m not discounting all of that. I’m just saying if you two are going to do this, Felicity, you need to watch yourself. Whatever this thing is between you, it’s not done, no matter how much you both want to pretend it is. So just… take care of yourself.”

Felicity sighed, her glare melting into a solemn, sad look. “I always do.”


	48. Bedsheets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver has made a dangerous assumption, and will pay for it on his knees.

"These are one thousand count Egyptian Cotton."

Felicity raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips together—never a good sign. Oliver guiltily released the corner of the burgundy sheet—draped over one of the chairs from the dining room, no doubt dragged into the east sitting room for this explicit purpose.

"Today, they’re a fort, Oliver Queen. Them and roughly twelve other sets Raisa provided us with." She reached up and smoothed the crazy loose hairs that had escaped all over her head from her ponytail.

Oliver raised one brow, tucking his lips together as he—slowly, deliberately—surveyed the tent-city the room had disappeared beneath.

Felicity’s nostrils flared at his expression and she jutted her chin forward, hands on her hips. “Oh no, you do  _not_  get to give me judgey eyes.  _You_ saddled me with babysitting duties—presumably because I have girl-parts, which we  _will_  be talking about later, don’t even  _think_  you’re ducking that bullet.” Her neck pulled back, eyes squeezing shut. “The presumption, not the—not my having girl-parts.  _Anyways_.” She rolled her eyes heavenward, then took one sharp stride into his space, poking him hard in the chest. “I am an only child who was too smart to get along with my peers, Oliver.  _I don’t know anything about children_.”

He held up his hands, wincing in anticipation of the new asshole she was going to rip him later for sticking her with the kid—indeed because he’d assumed she’d have some sort of magical feminine instinct for child-management. Also because he trusted her with this particular vulnerability above almost anyone else, and he couldn’t have put off leaving to deal with China White.

He suspected that wasn’t going to get him off the hook, though, not really. Maybe if he led with that, and said nothing about her being right about his—in hindsight, absolutely sexist—presumptions. “Can I make it up to you?”

"Sure," she answered immediately, brows high in a condescending expression. "Get on your knees."

Oliver froze, eyes wide.

Felicity, however, was unflustered, and curled her lips in a mean little smirk. “And  _you_  go crawling around in there to find your unexpected offspring. Go get ‘em,  _Dad_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHAHAHA. Not what you thought it was going to be, was it.


	49. Supply Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't Felicity's first rodeo.

"Aim for the head, go for the kill."

Felicity sighted down her arm quickly and squeezed the trigger, the gun’s suppressor muffling the shot. She threw Oliver a disgusted look over her shoulder as her target’s skull exploded like an overripe pumpkin in the sun. “This isn’t my first rodeo, Oliver.”

He raised an eyebrow at her where she stood in the truckbed with the supplies, then swung around with his crowbar and caught another rotting, reeking zombie in the temple. It went down and he hit it again, until the braincase satisfyingly cracked open. “It’s your first with  _me_. How was I supposed to know you could actually aim that thing?”

She raised her arm again and a bullet whizzed over Oliver’s shoulder—closer than he’d have liked—and caught another walker ambling down the road towards them square in the face.

Oliver stepped forward as it went down. It didn’t get back up. He turned and gave Felicity a reluctant nod of thanks.

She wasn’t appreciative, and let him know with a disappointed-librarian head tilt. Her glasses slipped down her nose, and she pointedly pushed them back up with her middle finger. “Maybe because I  _said so_. Maybe because  _Diggle said so_  when he okayed me for this run because he  _trained me himself._ ”

Oliver suppressed a smirk. She had a helluva spine, this girl of Digg’s. “Trust, but verify.”

Felicity rolled her eyes.

Roy leaned out of the window of the driver’s side and hollered, “Are you two done flirting? Sara’s incoming. Queen, get your ass in the truck.”

Both Oliver and Felicity ignored the flirting comment and turned to face the road—just then, Sara came into sight behind the chainlink fence bordering the back of the old shopping center beside the road, hauling ass despite the large, loaded-up pack strapped to her back.

They watched as she made a running leap for the fence, catching it near the top and shimmying over like a monkey. Behind her, three zombies struggled into view, none of them in particularly good condition.

Sara hopped onto the road, grinning and waving at her team and ignoring the gurgling, rasping monsters clustering up at the fenceline, trying to reach for her through the chain links.

Just as Oliver’s shoulders were relaxing and Felicity was waving back and laughing, the previously unseen corpse of a teenage Hispanic boy stood up from beneath a large, shaggily overgrown bush by the road.

Sara was almost even with it, and jerked around, surprised by the sudden movement.

“ _Shit_.” Oliver hefted his crowbar, and behind him Felicity raised her gun, but before either of them could do more, Sara snatched up the sharpened metal stake that dangled on her hip, spun neatly, and drove the spiked end home through the walker’s eyesocket.

Felicity whistled low as Sara wiggled her stake free of the zombie’s eye—no doubt scrambling its brain for good measure. She kicked the corpse over, wiped her weapon clean on its tattered shirt, and picked up into a quick jog that ate the remaining distance between her and the truck.

Oliver was shaking his head and fighting a smile as Sara passed him, tongue sticking out. “What’re you losers waiting for? Let’s move!”

She pulled herself up into the truck bed with a hand from Felicity, and Oliver was right behind her. As Oliver helped slip the bulging backpack from Sara’s shoulders, Felicity squeezed around the boxes and carts of supplies and banged her fist twice on the roof of the cab.

Roy started up the engine and called through the still-open window, “You coulda just said ‘drive’, you know, I  _can_  hear you assholes.”

Felicity ignored him, turning to Sara with a hopeful smile. “Did you get it?”

Sara smirked, fond and slow, and bent to dig a small cardboard box out of her bag. “For you, Felicity, always.”

She tossed the box and—fumbling it only slightly, Felicity caught it. She read something on its face and broke into a stunning, sunny smile, clutching the box to her chest. “You are the  _best_.”

Sara winked and blew her a kiss.

As the truck rolled on towards Home, Felicity settled in up by the cab, and Oliver and Sara took up rear lookout positions, facing behind them.

Oliver glanced at Sara, who raised an eyebrow at him. Chucking his head in Felicity’s direction, he asked quietly, “What’d you get her?”

Sara grinned and batted her lashes. “Liquid sunshine.” She laughed at Oliver’s confused squint. “The little blondes gotta stick together, Ollie.”


	50. Home Invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver's surprise backfires; but it could've been worse.

“And how was that a good idea?”

Diggle stood in the entry of Felicity’s living room, thick arms folded over broad chest, and shook his head at Oliver, who shot him a glare the might have been worth a damn if he weren’t developing two black eyes. The swelling across his nose and the blood smeared across his cheek didn’t much help his case.

Felicity, seated on the coffee table and trying to get around Oliver’s swatting hands with a wet rag and a dish towel full of ice, jutted her chin out angrily and demanded, “You answer the man _right now_ , Oliver Queen. What the _hell_ possessed you to come sneaking through my upstairs window in the middle of the night?” Oliver sighed, shoulders sagging at being ganged up on, and Felicity took advantage to dab at the blood on his face none-too-gently with her rag. “I mean it, I’m not sorry enough for the busted nose to not be pissed at you.”

Scowling sourly, Oliver snatched the rag from Felicity’s hand and wiped it over his face, dabbing it under his nose as he scooted sullenly back into the couch cushions. Voice muffled and nasally, he grumbled, “I was trying to surprise you.”

John’s brows popped high and he barked a short laugh, tossing his hands in the air and landing them on his hips. “Well you fucking _succeeded_ , Queen. You surprised the hell out of her, and nearly gave me a goddamn heart attack.” Oliver glanced up at him guiltily. “Do you have any idea how many of my nightmares start with Felicity calling after midnight, terrified because she thinks someone is in the house?” Felicity was nodding along, and Oliver’s jaw worked in embarrassment. “Do you have any idea how close you came to Lyla calling down an ARGUS op team here? And they wouldn’t just break your nose, they’d _perforate_ you.”

Felicity blinked at him. “Seriously? Lyla almost called in an ARGUS goon squad for me?” Digg gave her a “duh” face, and she pinkened, lips curving in a small smile. “That’s oddly touching.” Her head came back up, smile gone as she swooped a pointed finger between Oliver and Diggle. “ _Not_ that I needed it, mind you.” Her hand swept towards Oliver’s face, Vanna White showcasing his busted nose. “I am clearly not helpless, and backup was totally on speed dial, thank you, Digg.”

Oliver rolled his eyes, then sat up, eyes narrowing at Felicity. “Hey, how come Digg was your first call when you thought you were in danger? Why not me?”

Felicity and John scorched him with nearly identical scathing looks.

“ _You_ were supposed to be out of town, Oliver!”

He tossed his head. “Which is why I was gonna surprise you, I got home early— _shit_.” Blood spilled down his upper lip again, and he lifted the rag quickly to catch it. From behind the damp cotton, he grudgingly mumbled, “At least Digg’s lessons are paying off. You hit _hard_.”

Felicity’s back straightened with pride, but Digg’s eyebrows were on a slow climb of revelation.

"Hold up." His partners both turned their attention to him, and John pointed accusingly at Oliver. "You got back in town half a day early, and your first stop in the _middle of the damn night_ is B &E through Felicity’s guest bedroom window?”

Felicity’s eyes widened and the tips of Oliver’s ears went red, both of them staring at Diggle like rabbits at a wolf.

Digg’s mouth dropped open. “ _How long_?”

"Um," Felicity fidgeted with her industrial piercing, eyes skating all around the room.

Oliver slowly lowered the rag from his face, grimacing. “We can explain—”

"I don’t give a damn," Digg interrupted, arms crossing again. " _How long_ have you two been sleeping together?”

Felicity mumbled something and, glancing at her from the corner of his eyes, Oliver cleared his throat and reluctantly answered, “A… few weeks?”

Digg shook his head over and over. “I can’t _believe_ I didn’t see this shit happening. I mean, I’m too not surprised you idiots decided to sneak around to be offended you didn’t tell me, but how the hell did I not _see through you_?” He sighed, turning away and dragging his hands down his face. “God damn it. I owe Lyla fifty bucks and a spa day.”


	51. The Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't even the most unbelievable thing to happen to Felicity.

"There is no such thing as ghosts."

Felicity pressed her back into the door, eyes squeezing shut, tears spiking her lashes, and repeated the words to herself over and over in a harsh whisper, needing them to be true.

She inhaled, shuddering. “You’re hallucinating, Felicity. You’re feverish, or sick, or on—on _drugs_ or something. _There’s no such thing as ghosts_.”

A soft sigh made her freeze, fingernails scraping against the woodgrain of the door as her hands curled into trembling fists.

A throat cleared. Felicity whimpered.

“ _There is no such thing as ghosts_.”

"That is such bullshit, and at this point, you’re really just being _rude_.”

Felicity swallowed a groan as she lifted her chin and opened her eyes. There, in the middle of her bedroom, looking every bit the way she remembered him from the handful of times they’d met before his death, stood Tommy Merlyn. His hands bracketed his hips, his charcoal suitcoat flaring behind them to showcase the vibrant royal blue of his shirt. His expression was exasperated, impatient, jaw squared and eyebrows arched.

The trouble was that he cast absolutely _no_ shadow. And Felicity had been present at his open-casket viewing and subsequent _burial_.

Whimpering again, she stared at him and pressed harder against the door. He certainly hadn’t come in through there, and she’d thought she’d left him in the kitchen. Clearly, _ghosts_ didn’t need to use doors. “You’re _dead_. Oh god, I’m going crazy, aren’t I. All of the weird shit she we’ve survived and _I’m losing my mind_.”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “All of the weird shit you’ve survived and it’s a visit from a dead guy you can’t handle?” He shook his head and stepped closer, his expression deadly serious. “Get a grip, Smoak. It could be worse, it could be _Moira_.”

Felicity blinked, then cringed at the idea of being haunted by the shade of the intimidating Queen matriarch. Her expression pulled a quirk out of Tommy’s lips, and he snorted softly.

"There she is." The smile faded. "Now I need you to listen. Something nasty is headed straight for Starling City, and if you don’t want to see _more_ dead people get a lot more solid and threatening, you need to carry a message to Oliver.”

Felicity licked her lips, her pounding heart slowly thumping down to a less frenzied beat. Eying the earnest warning in Tommy’s face, she decided that, just like Tommy had said, _weirder shit had happened_. “I’m listening.”


	52. The Best Bad Ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity's willing to let Tommy convince her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt and first sentence provided by basketcasebarnes on Tumblr.

"Yeah, and?"

"And it’s a _bad idea_ , Tommy,” Felicity whined, pushing at his shoulders only to seconds later dig her nails into them as he nipped the skin of her neck.

“ _Yeah_ ,” he repeated snarkily, kissing the hollow of her throat tenderly. “And?”

She sighed, running one hand up into his hair and tilting her head to one side, giving him better access as he licked along her collarbone. “ _And_ , despite the no-doubt mind-blowing orgasms, no real good can come of this.”

He squeezed his fingers around her hips, tugging her to stand closer between his legs where he sat on her kitchen table. Kissing up her throat every few words, he said, “Mind-blowing orgasms are _definitely_ a good reason to do this, Felicity.” He slipped one hand around to palm her ass, rubbing the firm curve through her jeans. “What if I promise to give you at _least_ four?”

She shivered and he grinned mischievously against her jaw, nudging her small hoop earring with his nose as she tugged gently at his hair. “That’s not even playing fair, Tommy Merlyn, do you have _any idea_ how long it’s been for me?”

He pulled back just enough to look her in the face, the dark and the heat in his eyes clenching the muscles of her stomach in anticipation. “ _Too_ long.” He kissed her lips, twice, three times. Four. “You deserve better than that, Felicity.”

She exhaled in a shaky gust, eyes squeezing shut as she leaned their foreheads together, her resolve crumbling. He’d hit the nail on the head. She _deserved better_ , out of life, out of love, from her friends. And she was _so tired_ of not getting it, of settling for less.

"Do I deserve better, Tommy?" she asked forcefully, opening her eyes to give him a steady stare. His smirk faded, hands running back up to lace his fingers at the small of her back. He nodded. She sighed, and asked in a small, quiet, almost plaintive voice, "Then don’t I deserve better than to just be somebody’s quick lay?"

He laughed.

She flinched, going stiff in his arms, and when he realized, when she ducked her eyes and pressed her lips tightly together, he pulled her more against him, running a palm up her back, soothing. “No. No, Felicity, that’s not what I _meant_.” He kissed her chin, her nose, her mouth. “That is absolutely _not_ what I meant. You’re damn right you deserve better, though trust me, if you wanted a quick and dirty fuck I would be _happy_ to give you as many quickies as you had time for.”

She raised her eyes, a crease of wary confusion forming between her brows even as her arm rounded his neck to rest along his shoulders, her other hand absentmindedly caressing his chest.

"Felicity," he breathed, soft and strangely… reverent. "I intend to take my time with you."


	53. Love Is A Battlefield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity and Tommy have a fight, and things are said that can't be taken back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on an OTP Prompt on Tumblr by lordstark: "IMAGINE UR OTP GETTING IN A FIGHT AND ONE OF THEM YELLING THAT THEY LOVE THE OTHER ONE AND THEN IT GETS REALLY QUIET i live for shit like that"

"I don’t understand why you’re being like this!" Felicity exclaimed, exasperated. "It’s ridiculous, Tommy, we are both grown adults, this isn’t even the first time we have done this!"

"I’m just not comfortable with it, Felicity, alright?" He snapped, turning away from her and running a hand back over his hair. "This isn’t the same simple setup, this is asking too much and I swear to god, Oliver _knows_ this is over the line.”

Her heels were a sharp report on the cement floor as she obstinately circled around in front of him, hands hitting her hips and chin jutting forth stubbornly. “This is hardly more complicated than any of the other roles we’ve played. You’re being ridiculous, and you won’t tell me _why_!”

"Being ridic—" Tommy reared back, glaring at her incredulously. "Felicity, this is not just some lame shit where we hold hands and call each other dumb fake pet names or schmooze through a dinner! Have you even _thought_ about what we’ll have to do? The—the fucking _performance_ we’ll have to put on to sell being _married_ on a honeymoon cruise?”

"Of _course_ I have, Tommy! Suddenly you think I’m an idiot?” She shook her head at him, ponytail swinging sharply across her shoulder blades. “It makes perfect sense for the mission, you and I make _perfect_ sense for this!”

"Perfect sense!" Tommy repeatedly with a scornful, brittle laugh, eyes rolling and hand flinging sharply in the air.

Felicity narrowed her eyes, nostrils flaring as her fuchsia lips compressed. “We always have! That’s why Oliver keeps asking us to do these, because we’re believably close and affectionate. You’re one of my best friends, Tommy, and the only one I trust to pull this off with! Don’t you have any faith in me?”

He growled into his palms in frustration, stung by the hurt in her question. Palms slapping to his sides, he blew out a hard breath. “This isn’t a question of faith, Felicity, it’s a question of _boundaries_! We’d have to cross or blur so many goddamn lines to pull this off and I can’t _stand_ how nonchalant you’re being about it!”

She tossed her head, eyes rolling and hands making strangling motions. “ _That’s_ what you’re worried about? Tommy, we spend nearly all of our free time together, you fall asleep in my bed at least once a week. I think we can handle a little playing at intimacy.”

"A _little_!” Tommy ground his teeth, jaw squaring and hands shoving into his pockets like he needed to put them away. Striding close into her space, he deliberately loomed over her, staring hard into her eyes as she tilted her head back to maintain eye contact—so damn _stubborn_ , not giving an inch of ground even as his suit jacket brushed her chest. “This isn’t just a little cuddling and nicknaming, we’d be sharing a bed every night. Have you even read the itinerary of this cruise? The profile workup Lyla handed us on this couple we have to get close to? Felicity, this is—” he inhaled through his teeth, eyes roaming her hard-set features with intensity. “This is _touching_ and _looking_ and—and _kissing_ at the very least—”

Felicity scoffed, eyes rolling yet again as her breath left her in a derisive sigh. “What’s a little kissing between friends, Tommy? Everything we’ve been through, _your_ history, why is kissing _me_ the ultimate deal breaker?”

Tommy’s eyes bulged at her obtuseness, and he rocked back onto his heels, swinging around and striding away. Her heels followed him.

“ _Why_ , Tommy?”

That sharp demand in her tone was the last straw. Whirling on her, he laughed, “Jesus Christ, Felicity!” His hands came up to catch her elbows as she wobbled on her heels, startled by the sharpness of his motion. “Because I _love you_!”

Tommy’s voice rang through the foundry, echoing with desperation, frustration, and utter, helpless truth. For a moment, they stared at each other, quietly, heavily breathing, and then Tommy’s fingertips slid off her skin and he took two steps backwards, a palm sliding across his forehead. His eyes fluttered closed in stunned, cringing shock at the confession he’d never meant to make.

When he opened his eyes, Felicity still stared at him, frozen in place, her eyes big and round behind her glasses, all the fight spilled out of her spine and shoulders. Very softly, she whispered, “Oh.”


	54. Be Brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver is afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First line and prompt by andyouweremine (alwaysaqueen).

"In what world is Oliver Queen scared of anything?"

Oliver stared at the toes of his boots, finger seeking friction against thumb, a grounding sensation. His lips trembled as his breath slipped through them, thin and shaky.

Slowly, he looked up at Tommy, who stood with his hands braced on the medical bench, his chin high and a bright, challenging expression on his face, softened only by that small curve in his mouth.

Oliver swallowed hard and shook his head just slightly. “In any world he has this much to lose.”

Felicity scoffed, stepping away from Tommy’s side to move purposefully around the bench, Oliver watching with a sort of helplessness as she slipped right into his space, right under his guard, under his skin, into his heart. “You are so _full_ of it.” Her chin stuck out stubbornly, eyes burning, demanding. “You can’t lose what you won’t be brave enough to _have_ , Oliver.”

She glanced over her shoulder at Tommy, who was regarding her softly. They both returned their attention to Oliver, who could _feel_ his resolve slipping through his fingers like sand.

Tommy rounded the med bench to stand behind Felicity, a hand finding the dip of her waist. His eyes drew Oliver in like magnets. “Be with us.”


	55. Alarm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Tommy can't find Felicity when the alarm goes off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First line and prompt by mzantrhopist. Written as part of my Smoaking Billionaires high school AU on Tumblr.

"This is not a drill."

Oliver and Tommy lifted their heads from their chem lab instruction sheet to stare up at the ceiling. The alarms blared at shrill, skull-rattling volume, the static-layered voice on the loudspeaker competing. “Repeat, this is _not_ a drill. Proceed calmly and quickly out of the building. Follow instruction and _remain_ in the quad.”

"You heard it!" Ms. Horne clapped for her students’ attention, gesturing in sweeping motions towards the classroom door. "Move it, people! Orderly fashion, haul your butts!"

Tommy and Oliver exchanged quizzical looks and gathered their things, moving as a unit for the door at the head of the stream of their classmates. They moved through the hall with the tide of student bodies, both boys keeping close and casting searching glances over their peers’ heads as traffic flowed towards the quad exits.

They were released into a milling crowd on the wide green-and-paving swath, urged back several yards from the building by instructors and staff. A thin column of dirty-looking smoke curled from the far end of the building, but neither Tommy nor Oliver paid it any attention, standing shoulder to shoulder and occasionally bouncing to their toes to see over the other students.

"I don’t see her." Tommy’s voice was tight. "You?"

Oliver gritted his teeth, swearing under his breath as a tall, reedy kid blocked his view before being pushed decisively aside. “No. Where the hell is she?”

Tommy dug into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, thumb moving rapidly as he tapped a quick text. “Isn’t her AP class in D hall?”

"Yeah," Oliver snapped, digging his own phone out. "Where the _fuck_ is she?”

Fear curled in both their bellies as they stared at their phones, Oliver willing it to ring as Tommy shot off text after text.

Growling his frustration, Tommy ran a hand over his hair and raised wide, worried eyes to Oliver’s. “Ollie, what if—”

He bit off the rest of the sentence, words lodging in his throat, swallowing hard around them.

Oliver stared at him, breathing fast and nostrils flaring. “Fuck this. I’m gonna go grab a teacher.”

"Why? They’re kind of busy right now."

Tommy and Oliver’s eyes widened in almost comical, simultaneous relief, and they whirled as one, exclaimed as one, “Felicity!”

She startled back a step at the intensity of their reaction, but didn’t get far as Tommy snatched her arm and jerked her in for a crushing hug. Oliver, not to be left out, wrapped his arms around both of them.

Felicity laughed, muffled between sweater-clad chests. “Not that I’m not enjoying this little group hug, but _why_?”

The boys disentangled, but Tommy couldn’t quite let go of her, leaving a hand on her shoulder as Oliver smiled tightly and explained, “We couldn’t find you, and it looked like the fire was in D hall.”

"And you weren’t responding to any of my texts." Tommy squeezed her shoulder and reluctantly dropped his hand, shoving it into his back pocket.

"Oh," Felicity’s eyebrows popped high. "My phone died last block, I haven’t had a chance to charge it." Her eyes narrowed and, lips pursing into an amused smirk, she asked, "How many texts did you _send_?”

Tommy’s ears went pink. “… A few.”

Oliver snorted, grinning, just happy she was okay. “I think he almost broke his thumb from texting so fast.”

"Aww," Felicity wiggled, tucking her fists into the sleeves of her jacket. Her eyes twinkled as she favored them both with a brilliant, teasing smile. "You guys were worried about me?"

Tommy rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hold back his grin. “Maybe we were.”

Oliver reached out and tugged on a loose curl of her hair. “ _Yeah_ we were.”

Her cheeks flushed happily and she stepped in closer, reaching out to turn them around and hook an elbow each. “Well, you can’t get rid of me _that_ easy.”


	56. Choke On It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Definitely not an appropriate topic for breakfast conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First line and prompt by RosieTwiggs, who deserves EXACTLY what she got.

"So, double penetration," she said out of the blue at breakfast one morning, as though she was talking about the weather.

Oliver choked on the sip of orange juice he’d just taken, doubling over his bagel, his entire head going red and sweaty and his eyes watering.

Tommy absentmindedly pounded Oliver between the shoulder blades, his mouth slack as he stared with wide eyes at Felicity, who watched Oliver wheeze and hack with the detachment of a scientist charting the growth of a mold culture.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Oliver gasped. “ _Fuck_ , it’s in my nose. _Fuck, it fucking burns._ ”

Felicity offered him her napkin. He snatched it and wiped his mouth and eyes, then blew his nose into it. He then commandeered her glass of water, sipping it with shaking hands and grimacing as he swallowed.

After several moments, he slowly eased back in his chair, painfully clutching at his stomach. Tommy’s hand remained, forgotten, between Oliver’s shoulder blades.

Tommy was _still_ staring slack-jawed at Felicity as Oliver focused carefully on breathing air instead of pulpy citrus.

"So…" Tommy drawled. "You were saying something about—about _double penetration_?”

Felicity propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her laced fingers, mouth shrugging in a muppet-like frown. “Yeah, just saying. That’s not happening. Absolutely _nothing_ ,” she waved one hand in a circular motion towards her rear, “is entering through the back door.” Oliver coughed again, glaring through damp, red eyes at her as he reached for another napkin. She smiled sweetly. “So if either of you have a just _burning_ need to insert tab A into slot _C_ , this is your friendly reminder you both have tight asses of your own.”

Tommy’s face slowly colored and he sat up very straight in his chair, clearing his throat. “ _Noted_.”


	57. Flexibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy's exercises give Felicity ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First line and prompt by mylunarsolstice.

"Tommy why is your leg in the air like that?"

Tommy lay on his back on the bed in nothing but his boxer briefs, one muscular leg extended into the air, toes pointing towards the ceiling. His head rolled against the bedcovers as he looked at Felicity, standing barefoot in the doorway, wearing the cute sunflower-patterned dress with the gathered bodice she’d modeled for him that morning.

Tommy grinned, slowly bending his knee and pulling it in towards his chest. “Physical therapy. I mean, it’s been like two years, but sometimes the old injury acts up and I’m supposed to do these flexibility exercises.” He kept his knee tucked to his chest and stretched his arms over his head, back arching. “The rebar was like, an inch or two from my spine. I was really lucky I didn’t end up paralyzed, or with permanent nerve damage.”

Felicity leaned against the doorjamb and watched him, her head tilted, as he moved through a few more exercises. Finally, he relaxed against the mattress, his near arm tucking under his head as he turned to smile at her.

Felicity smiled back and pushed away from the door, crossing to the bed and slinging one leg over his hips to straddle him on her knees.

"Ooh," he murmured appreciatively, slipping his hands up her thighs to gather her skirt, squeezing the soft-but-firm flesh of her hips. "Am I about get even _luckier_?”

Breathing a soft laugh, Felicity pulled the tie out of her hair and rocked her hips against his, leaning down to tease his open mouth with hers. “I was thinking we could test your flexibility in ways your physical therapist might not approve of.”

Tommy tipped his chin back, chasing her mouth as she flicked her tongue against his lower lip. “Yes, please.”


	58. Sparkling Limeade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity attend Sara Diggle's fifth birthday party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Julandran, who prompted "sparkling limeade" and did not get what she wanted, sadly, because I'd never heard of it before.

"What _is_ that?” Felicity asked in fascinated horror.

Oliver stood beside her and stared at the punchbowl of fizzy, neon-green… liquid. Beverage? Possibly nuclear waste. “Uh…”

"Sparkling limeade," Digg drawled as he wandered up on the other side of the snack table. He held a little clear plastic cup of the _stuff_ and raised it to his lips as he flickered droll eyebrows at his friends. He sipped—and grimaced. “You two _will_ drink it. It’s her favorite, and god help me _you_ are her favorites. Do _not_ hurt my kid’s feelings.”

Felicity wrinkled her nose and held her hand out as Digg poured her a cup of _sparkling limeade_. “Where _is_ the birthday girl? It’s hard to tell the mob apart into individual tiny screaming hobgoblins.”

"Did you just call my daughter a hobgoblin?" Lyla asked smoothly, stepping up beside her husband with a crooked polka-dot party hat strapped to her head.

Felicity’s mouth fell open and she flushed, quickly filling her gaping mouth with _sparkling limeade_.

Oliver hastily interceded. “Of course not! Just the other ones.” He grinned too toothily and stuck his hand out. “Lyla! You look fantastic, we love the short hair.”

She plunked a plastic cup into Oliver’s open hand, her lips pursed in amusement. “Mhmm. You know, one day you’re going to get overeager and forget a condom, and then it’ll be _you two_ stuck in child-party hell playing host.”

Felicity and Diggle choked on their fizzy drinks as if they had coordinated for highest comedic affect, and Oliver fishmouthed at Lyla, color and heat rising in his face as she snickered and walked away towards the kitchen.

Clearing his throat and stifling a smirk, Diggle coughed, “I’m going to go help her with the cake.”

Felicity and Oliver eyeballed each other, both blushing, over the rims of their cups. They both wrinkled their noses at the taste of the drink and laughed together.

Grinning Felicity reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. He drew her closer and she tilted her chin back to smile at him. “Just so you know, much as I love you, we are _not_ doing this,” she gestured towards the mob of four to six year olds battling with inflatable swords, “ _any_ time soon. If at all.”

Oliver smirked, edging close enough to put her feet between his so he could dip his head and kiss her softly. “It’s a good thing we’re never too eager to be _forgetful_ then.”

Felicity ran her bottom lip through her teeth, wiggling her eyebrows up at him. “Just wait until we get home…”

"Hey!" Roy sidled up, paper crinkle streamers decorating his hair and shoulders. Eyebrows high and disapproving, he shook his head at Oliver and Felicity. "Not where the kids can see you."


	59. Just Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity and Oliver share a bed for one night only and take advantage of the opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by shipreally "hair touching/smelling"

It was just for the night.

Just for this one night.

Oliver swallowed hard and reminded himself over and over that this wasn’t real, wasn’t permanent, couldn’t last, was only for _now_.

It only made him tighten the arm around Felicity’s waist, pulling her closer in against him as she slept.

The bed was small, he reasoned, and he was a large man. He just didn’t want her to fall off.

It had _nothing_ to do with how every inch of skin on skin lit his nerve endings up like a Christmas tree. He definitely wasn’t savoring the way she wiggled to get more comfortable (her ass rubbing dangerously into his hips), or the way she ran a hand up and down his forearm before snuggling her face deeper into the pillow with a contented sigh.

He certainly wasn’t burying his nose into her damp, curly hair to inhale the fruity scent of her leave-in conditioner. His face was just… warm.

Warm because she _kept pushing her ass into his crotch_.

He was definitely beginning to develop a… situation.

Oliver inhaled sharply, lungs full of citrus and strawberry, biting his lip and letting his forehead fall against her shoulder as he struggled to master himself.

"Oliver," he started at the throaty, sleep-roughened murmur of her voice. The hand on his arm squeezed. "You okay?"

"Um. Yeah," he breathed, strangled. "Did I wake you?"

Felicity shifted against the sheets, and he breathed in sharp through his nose, holding very still as her palm slid down his wrist to cover the back of his hand. Her backside brushed over him again, and she stilled. “Uh. I think—I think actually I woke _you_.”

Oliver swallowed thickly and bit down on a soft curse. “Felicity. I’m sorry, I should sleep on the floor, I just—um. It’s… a small bed, and you’re—and I’m—we’re, uh—”

"Oliver," there was a little laughter in her voice, and he winced, wondering if she was enjoying letting someone else ramble embarrassingly this time. Her fingers threaded between his against her stomach, and he blinked into her hair in surprise. "I’m good here. If you are."

"You, um," he breathed out, shaky, watching in fascination as the rush of air across her shoulder raised goosebumps across her skin. "You don’t mind? I don’t want you to be…" he shifted his hips back a little, putting a couple of inches between them. "Uncomfortable."

"Oliver…" she sighed, releasing his hand and rolling over beneath his arm. She shifted a hand underneath the pillow and shook her damp curls away from her face, looking up at him from under her lashes. Biting her lip, she shifted a knee between his, rubbing the smooth skin up and down between his thighs and making his breath catch in his throat. "What if… I don’t want to be comfortable?"

Oliver breathed curses in Chinese and spread his fingers over the small of her back, squeezing her knee with his thighs as his eyes fluttered briefly shut. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea…”

Felicity scooted even closer, her thigh between his sitting high, her breasts separated from his chest now by only that thin blue tanktop. Tilting her head up, her lips brushed tinglingly soft over the whiskers on his chin. “It’s just one night, right?” Her fingers shook a little as she trailed them across his abs, the muscles flexing under the light touch. “Just one night where we can pretend…”

Swearing again, Oliver caught her mouth under his, kneading her hip through her little cotton sleep shorts as he licked across her full bottom lip, seeking entry she granted with enthusiasm.

He rolled her onto her back, covering her body with his and groaning into her mouth when she parted her legs around his hips and gripped him.

Breathing heavy, he rested his forehead against hers and stroked his fingertips up and down her sides as she carded her fingers through his short hair. Slowly opening his eyes, he was knocked in the chest by the way she was looking at him—he couldn’t even describe it.

"Felicity," he sighed, kissing her softly, her upper lip fitting between his own. "I don’t want to pretend with you. Of everything in my life, you’re the one I want most to be _real_.”

Eyes falling shut, Felicity bit her lips together, shifting to bury her face in his neck. Pressing a trail of little sucking kisses up his neck, she arched her body into his, breathing into his ear. “Then let me _be_ real, Oliver. Just tonight.”


	60. Open Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity needs a ride to Vegas, and Oliver insists on being the wheels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by voubledision, "road trip"

Felicity sighed as the jangling bell announced her exit from the gas station convenience store, a pair of sweating soda bottles in her hands as she made her way towards the cringingly ostentatious deep-blue Aston Martin DB9 convertible.

Oliver was just replacing the gas cap when she rounded the front end towards the passenger seat.

He smiled at her in the summer heat, the v-necked dark gray tee shirt he wore clinging to him in all the right, really inconvenient places.

Grumbling to herself, she yanked open her door and slid into her seat, setting their sodas in the cupholders as he climbed behind the wheel. Felicity buckled her seatbelt and shook her head at Oliver while he got the engine purring. “You didn’t have to come with me, you know.”

He huffed a silent laugh, shaking his head in return as he put them back on the road and into the exit lane for the interstate. “So you keep saying. Felicity, if you didn’t want me to come, you should have said so.”

"No," she protested, a little whiny. "It’s not that I didn’t want you to _come_ , of course I’d want you to come if you wanted to come, and—and you were pretty insistent about coming, so of  _course_ you’re going to come—” His lips were doing that suspicious tuck between his teeth as his eyebrows slowly crept up his forehead, eyes resolutely on the road. Felicity sucked in a loud breath and felt her cheeks color. “—And I’m going to stop using the word _coming_ and—and  _come_ , now.”

"That would be my preference," he murmured, amused.

Catching his reference, she stuck her tongue out at him, the heat in her cheeks getting more intense. “ _Anyways_. I just… I didn’t even want to _do_ this, really, but I kind of _have_ to, because I promised. Even though my ten year high school reunion is the _last_ place I want to be, _ugh_.”

"I still can’t believe you graduated at 16," he interjected, a little amazed.

She ignored him. “And you _really_ don’t want to be there, trust me, these people are _awful_ , and they’d have eaten you up _before_ , when you were a hotshot CEO. Now?” She stared out the windshield, sinking in her seat and blowing out noisily between her lips. “Now they’re going to eat us both _alive_.”

"Felicity," his hand moved from the gearshift to her bare knee, and Felicity stared at his fingers encompassing her kneecap and bit her lip. "We can handle this. Asshole ex-classmates have nothing on super assassins or drug lords."

She snorted, patting his hand pityingly. “This is Vegas, Oliver. I guarantee you at least one of my ex-classmates _is_ a drug lord by now. And you’ve never met Heather Wallace. She ruled that school with an iron fist.”

Oliver laughed, glancing at her quickly and grinning. “You sound impressed.”

Felicity hummed. “Oh, I am. From a feminist standpoint, she’s _very_ impressive. But as one of her former less-than-loyal subjects, I’m a little terrified.”

She glanced down at his hand—still on her knee—as his thumb began absentmindedly rubbing circles into her skin.

"Well, luckily, you’ll have backup." He smirked smugly, raising his eyebrows at her before  turning his attention back to the road. "Besides, you weren’t gonna get there without me."

She sighed longsufferingly. “I _could_ have bought a plane ticket.”

He scoffed. “On TechHut money?” She shot him a nasty look he caught out of the corner of his eye. “Felicity, if either of us could have afforded casual roundtrip last-minute flights to Vegas, I’d have bought you the tickets myself.”

She rolled her eyes. “And invited yourself along _anyway_.”

He rolled his head on his shoulders self-consciously. “I am self aware enough to admit that, yeah.” His hand squeezed her leg again. Higher. But it was his vanishing smile and sad eyes that caught Felicity’s attention. “Digg and Lyla are plenty more than capable of taking care of themselves, and Roy too, while we’re gone, so they have each other. I’m not…” he exhaled through his nose, lips thinned, and finished softly, “I’m not ready to be _okay_ with you being so far away yet. Not alone.”

Felicity chewed her lip and stared at his profile, hesitantly slotting her fingers between his, rubbing circles over the knuckle of his thumb.

Oliver forced a small smile and glanced at her sidelong, teasingly waggling his eyebrows. “Besides, you didn’t exactly have your own car to drive cross-state in right now, since you _literally_ flooded the engine.”

Felicity rolled her eyes, lifting her hand from his to smack the back of it against his—good _lord_ —bicep. “That wasn’t even my _fault_ , Oliver! I hardly _asked_ for a chemically-engineered supersoldier to push my car off the road and into a ditch.”

He chuckled. “Well, he did. And now you get to go on a roadtrip with me. So suck it up.”

"Fine," she answered primly. She reached for the seat controls and listened to the mechanical whirr as her seatback lowered about three inches. Kicking off her low-heeled sandals, she lifted her feet and propped them on the dash, smirking meanly as he physically bit back a protest.

His hand remained on her thigh—a little higher, now, thanks to gravity—and Felicity admired her buttercup yellow toenails in the slightly blued sunlight through the windshield.

—

Felicity was dozed off in less than ten minutes, and between his hand curled around her _incredibly_ firm thigh and the full, smooth length of her _incredible_ legs—beautifully displayed below the hems of her short-short high-waisted shorts, bent attractively with her dainty little feet on his dash—Oliver figured any punishment he deserved for being overbearing was already being served.


	61. Laugh (I Nearly Died)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy couldn't stop joking around if his life depended on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First sentence prompted by andyouweremine (alwaysaqueen)

"Being scooped up by a guy clad in head to toe leather is a long time fantasy of mine."

The weak joke surprises a croaking laugh out of Oliver as he staggers to his feet, Tommy’s weight straining his arms. “That’s good, buddy. Keep joking, that’s good. Swear to god, you make it out of this and I’ll carry you across the threshold in full leather when you’re released from the hospital.”

There’s blood staining Tommy’s teeth and lips—as well as painting the front of his shirt where Oliver ripped out the rebar—as he grins up at Oliver, crooked and forced. “Sure, man. But…” his breath bubbles, and Oliver picks his way through the dust and debris faster, searching out what remains of the front door of CNRI. “…But on the offchance… I don’t make it. Tell Laurel I’m sorry.”

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Oliver insists fiercely, his eyes stinging from smoke and grit and panic. "Just hold on for me. Hold on."

Tommy’s eyes have fallen shut by the time he lays Tommy down in front of Laurel and Detective Lance, an ambulance screaming up behind them. It’s agony, sheer agony, but Oliver has to leave before he can see if Tommy opens his eyes again.


	62. Unhelpful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy tries out the salmon ladder; Felicity disapproves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First sentence prompted by tosailuponthesea

"If you don't come down from there, so help me—!"

"I’d really like to, Felicity," Tommy puffed, face red, "but, uh. Kinda stuck."

Felicity stood at the foot of the salmon ladder, hands on her hips, worry and irritation creasing her brow and tugging down the corners of her mouth. “You know better than this, Tommy Merlyn! You exacerbated your old wound _two weeks ago_ , the doctor said to take it easy. This is not taking it easy! What on earth _possessed_ you—”

He hung from the bar at the top rung, slowly inching downward as his elbows sank below the bar, sweat slicking his temples. “Sara does it. Oliver does it. Fuck, _Barry_ does it. I wanted to—”

He swore, face blanking in comical surprise as his hands slipped on the metal bar, leaving him dangling by his fingertips. Felicity clapped her hands to her gaping mouth.

"If you fall and hurt yourself,  _I will kill you_.”

"Not," he huffed, teeth gritted. "Helping." 


	63. New Challenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity is prepared to take them down one by one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First sentence prompted by sentence-fragments

"I’m going to kick your ass!"

Felicity laughed loftily, grin crooked and thumbs flying. “You’re gonna _try_.”

Roy bared his teeth, rocking sharply to the left on his folded legs, the controller in his hands veering in sync as his Samus barely avoided a gun blast. “Son of a _bitch_. Stand still you little—”

Felicity’s grin expanded wolfishly, her Jigglypuff sliding beneath Roy’s leaping character on the screen. “Nuh uh.”

"Felicity," he growled, "that is playing _dirty_ —shit! _NO_!”

She cackled as Jigglypuff whacked Samus in the back with a fairy wand, sending her face first into the little disc Felicity’d planted by the edge of the platform. Roy gaped and Felicity set down her controller to clap as Samus careened off screen and disappeared with a little flash and a _ding_.

Behind them, Oliver and Diggle clattered down the foundry steps, both men craning their necks to see what Felicity had rigged up to her computers.

"What are you two _doing_?” Oliver asked in bemusement. “Is that—Smash Bros?”

Sara, perched on the med bench, slid to her feet and grinned sunnily. “I’m impressed you recognize it, Ollie.”

Roy moaned, “You are the _devil_.”

Felicity shoved lightly at his shoulder. “I did warn you, but you thought you could take me.”

Sara took rolling strides towards them, wiggling empty palms at Roy. “And now it’s my turn, kiddo. Give ‘er up.”

Roy shot her a dark look and passed her his controller, scooting to make room. “Your funeral.”

Diggle chuckled and shook his head. “Felicity, are you fleecing the innocents?”

She turned to smile broadly at him over her shoulder. “Would I do that?” He leveled her with a skeptical look while Sara selected her character, and Felicity had the gall to _wink_. “Play the winner?”

Digg held up his hands. “Nooo. I learned that lesson summer of ‘13, no thank you. I’ll pass on the humble pie.”

Oliver folded his arms as he stood behind Felicity and Sara, squinting at the loading screen. “If you promise to take it easy on me til I get the hang of the controls, I’ll take that action.”

Felicity’s eyebrows flew high, eyes lighting up in unholy glee. “Oh, you’re on.”

Her toothy smile sent an unexpected chill down his spine.


	64. Golden Apples from Rotten Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm comes back for Tommy at age 10 and then takes him back with him to Nanda Parbat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First sentence prompted by storiesbyladychi
> 
> This is an AU where Malcolm comes back for Tommy at age 10 and then takes him back with him to Nanda Parbat. Trigger warning for brief, non-graphic child abuse.

"In Nanda Parbat, there is no such thing as a father and a son, there is only a master and a student."

Tommy sat on the other side of the low table from his father in the dim firelight and sniffled. His legs were falling asleep beneath him and he was tired and he wanted to go _home_. He wanted Ollie and Mr. and Mrs. Queen and his bed in the guest room and Raisa tucking him in.

He wanted his mom.

He squashed the last want down like he’d learned to do the last two years; like it’d taken him longer to learn to do than to learn to push down wanting his dad.

His dad came home and took him away on a long plane ride and wouldn’t let Tommy sleep, and the way he was looking at Tommy was _scary_. “I don’t wanna be your student. Not if it means you’re not my dad. I don’t wanna be in Panda Bat, I wanna go _home_.”

He swiped the back of his hand under his nose, shrinking back on the bamboo mat when Malcolm’s lips pressed thin and his eyelids flickered. He snapped, “We are not going back there, Thomas. Home died with your mother.”

Tommy gasped, eyes going wide and lower lip trembling.

Malcolm stared at him across the table, and for a long time there was just the sound of the coals sizzling under the brazier and the wax Malcolm had poured into the bowl bubbling.

Tommy felt every bit of lonely, abandoned rage fill his thin chest and surged onto his knees, slapping his small hands onto the edge of the table. “I wish _you’d_  died instead of her! She wouldn’t have left and she wouldn’t have taken me away from home and she wouldn’t—she would—she would _hate you_  and _I_  hate you and I _want to go home_!!”

Malcolm’s jaw clenched hard and he leaned forward and snatched one of Tommy’s wrists in a grip tight and bruising enough to make him cry out in startled pain. “And _I_  wish you were stronger.” He pulled Tommy’s hand over the middle of the table despite the boy’s straining and howls to let him go, let me _go_ , Dad, you’re _hurting me_ —

Malcolm lifted a ladle from the boiling wax with his free hand, face smooth and blank, eyes bright and avaricious on Tommy’s small, clenched fist as he poised the ladle over it. “And you _will_  be.”


	65. Lies Weigh More Than Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thea always gets to the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First sentence prompted by andyouweremine (alwaysaqueen)

"You don’t get to use my reaction to your lies as the reason for your lies!"

Oliver reeled back on his heels, mouth gaping, voice a rough swell in his throat. “Thea… I’m _sorry_. I couldn’t lose you, I just couldn’t _lose_  you, and then I didn’t know _how_  to tell you—”

Thea flung her hands in the air, short hair swinging around her jaw, a harsh bark of laughter cracking the air. “How about ‘Thea, I’m the Arrow!’ Or ‘Thea, Sara’s dead and _your father_  used you to _kill her_!’” Her eyes glittered with tears and fierce anger—pain, betrayal. “You couldn’t _lose me_ , Ollie? You’d already lost me and then you _lied_  to un-lose me.” She gestured sharply up and down at him, head shaking. “I don’t know if you ever really had me at all. I don’t know you, I don’t _know you_ , Oliver.”

His first name hit him like a slap, and he reached for her, but she stepped back. “Thea, please…”

She shook her head, back and forth, back and forth, a tear slipping over her lashes and spilling down each cheek. 

"No! No. I don’t know you and I don’t know _my father_. I don’t know _me_ ,” she sobbed. “God, if you had just been honest with me, I’d never have gone with him!” She slapped her hands to her chest, then held them out in front of her, fingers spread, shaking. “I wouldn’t have Sara’s _blood_  on my hands!”

Oliver took hurried steps towards her, closer but at arm’s length when she held up a sharp hand to stop him. “Please, _please_ , tell me what to do, tell me how to fix this.”

Thea choked, a harsh sound divorced of any humor. “You _can’t._ " Her eyes rolled heavenward, more tears spilling over. "I am _way_  too broken for that now.”

"Thea, _no_ ,” Oliver shook his head, a harsh, heartbroken whisper.

She shot him one last hot glare, snatched her jacket off the bar counter, and turned towards the door. “Don’t follow me, Ollie.”

"Where are you going?" He pleaded, fists clenched and helpless at his sides.

Thea shoved at the emergency release bar of the exit door and growled darkly, “To kill my father.”


End file.
